Dauntless: Destiny Remade
by MorganRay
Summary: As part of the Galra empire, the Paladins struggle to find each other and become the heroes they were meant to be. Whoever changed their fates has one goal-without their humanity, they'll fail. While training with the Blades, Galra Keith has troubling dreams of a life lived on a strange planet, he can't push it away. The Paladins will rediscover their destiny to save the universe.
1. Part 1: Failure--Simulation Failure

As part of the Galra empire, the Paladins struggle to find each other and become the heroes they were meant to be. But whoever change their fates has only one goal-that without their humanity, they'll fail.

While training with the Blades, Keith (full Galra) has troubling dreams of a life lived on a strange planet. He struggles with his training, and he can't push away the thought that time is running out-on what, he can't say. When he gets the opportunity, Keith infiltrates the Galra forces himself to find the mysterious weapon they've been hunting.

Hunk and Lance are new recruits for the Galra empire, but following orders has never come easy to Lance. When he's put on Thace's squad, Lance suspects his commander knows a secret-and he's determined to find it, even if it means sneaking his way into a top-secret mission and breaking more rules than Lance can count.

Pidge was excited to join her father and Shiro on the Kerberus mission, but when it goes disastrously wrong and they're captured by Galra, she finds herself isolated and a prisoner. While the Galra experiment on them, Pidge and Shiro find an unlikely ally in Keith. Together, the Paladins will have to rediscover their destiny to save the universe before whoever tampered with their destinies can stop them.

Prologue: A Dream

Keith sat on a rock, hunched and hidden from the uniformed guards below. A white, domed building half-buried in red dirt squatted below him. He wanted what was in that building-the trouble was, he never remembered what that was. The only thing he knew for certain was that it was important to sneak past those guards and get inside.

Keith pressed lowered his binoculars and glimpsed his hairless, clawless hands. Here, his face was flat and he lacked the purple fur or slightly pronounced snout of the Galra. It felt so wrong, and yet, he felt like he'd always been this strange, hairless creature.

Slinging his leg over the seat of his vehicle, Keith prepared to get closer to his goal. Before he could see what lay inside the dome, Keith woke with a pounding headache. In the dark, he fumbled for the ice tabs he kept beside his bed. Popping open their package, he stuck them to his forehead, and the drugs seeped into his skin, loosening his muscles and easing the ache in his skull.

Only now did Keith flick on the light, which bathed his room in a lurid, purple glow. Sucking in his deep breath, Keith stared down at his black-tipped claws. He ran his hands over his arms with his black tiger-striped purple fur in place.

You've always been a Galra-not some hairless creature, he reprimanded himself, shaking his head.

Yet why did he keep having the dreams? And why did they feel so real?

Knowing he'd lost another precious night of rest, but unable to go back to sleep again, Keith rose and dressed for training.

Part 1: Failure

1: Simulation Failure

Keith dropped down the airshaft, using his blade to slow his descent. It grated into the metal, the shimmering luxcite sending sparks flying. Above him, a mechanical voice blared.

"INTRUDERS. SELF DESTRUCT PROTOCOL INITIATED. INTRUDERS. SELF DESTRUCT PROTOCOL INITIATED."

No countdown-not that it would help him escape.

"Regris! Do you have the coordinates?" Keith shouted through the comm device in his mask.

A grunt, and then Regris's bored tone answered. "You triggered the alarm, didn't you? Of course you did…"

A weary sigh followed, but Keith bit back on his anger. Now, _of all times_ , Keith didn't need a reminder that his stealth skills needed some work. He said, "I was trying to kill them. Sorry I didn't do it _fast_ enough."

"I'll upload the information to the ship, but it'll take time."

There is no time, Keith thought, staring up at the top of the vent where he'd wedged himself. Bracing himself, he stuck his sword in his mouth. Already, footfalls pounded overhead, and Keith cursed himself-the reinforcements had arrived, and he was trapped like a wamp rat in a weasel's burrow. With a grunt, Keith wedged himself back up the shaft by jamming his back against one wall and using his legs to lever him up on the other.

Near the top, Keith transferred his sword from mouth back to hand. After a deep breath, he readied himself before launching from the air vent like a demon. He tore through the first four droid Galra guards before the other eight noticed him. When they started firing, he ducked behind a wall, drawing their fire after him. They stepped over the fallen droids, whose severed bodies sparked and twitched on the ground.

"Why are you still in that hallway?" Regris asked, irritation creeping into his usually indifferent tone. "Get on the ship."

Keith gritted his teeth, and his fangs dug into his gums. "I'm clearing you a path to escape," Keith said, turning the corner. He jumped and hacked through another guard's gun, darting away before it exploded and took another pair of guards with it.

That left five guards.

"INTRUDERS. SELF DESTRUCT PROTOCOL INITIATED. INTRUDERS."

Whirling in the air, Keith kicked another guard in the head, pinning him underneath his own weight. With the ruthless strength of a Galra, Keith yanked the droid's head off its shoulders. When another drone fired, he leaped away, and the droid shot its fallen comrade.

Keith drew more fire, but time wasn't his friend-he had to kill the four remaining droids now. If he'd had time, he could've drawn their fire further down the hallway and eventually set-up a sure-win scenario where he could easily defeat them, but if he and Regris were both going to escape, he had no choice-he had to clear this hallway...and he had to do it _now_.

Flipping through the air, Keith landed in the midst of the four remaining droids. Laser fire singed his arm, and he barred his fangs behind his mask. Keith dropped low and sliced through the legs of two droids. The shot from one of the remaining droids skimmed Keith's head, and his singed fur steamed, the rancid smell filling his senses and lingering in his mask. Keith jumped up, landing on the shoulders of the offending droid. He whirled it around, and both he and the droid toppled into final standing droid. Sprawled in a tangle of metal limbs, Keith stabbed at them, disarming whatever he could.

"We're clear!" Keith shouted.

A weary sigh was Regris's only reply.

"SHIP WILL NOW DESTRUCT."

The strip of overhead lavender lights went red, and then, the entire hallway was plunged into blackness. Keith swore, driving his blade into the floor.

The lights flickered on again, this time bathing the mangled remains of the droids in florescent, eye-searing white light. Keith hissed, glad he had his mask so the lights didn't blind him. The Galra used dim lighting because of their sharp eyes-and this harsh light would've sent Keith staggering blind. That was, he knew, the point of it. He might be on a mission where his enemies tried to blind him, and he needed to be prepared. He'd done the blinding light simulation missions, and while he struggled with them at first, they'd turned him into a more intuitive fighter-less reliant on sight. The Blades of Mamora tested their fighters in every way possible-mental, physical, and emotional-and prepared them to face a host of unknown yet definitely dangerous missions. Keith had unlocked his blade years ago, yet his missions had been limited to the role of getaway pilot. Until he passed his simulation tests, Kulivan wouldn't send him on any real infiltration missions. Until he passed his tests, Keith couldn't make a real difference in the war against Zarkon.

He'd be an eternal back-up pilot-a thought that made Keith want to tear through these walls with his own claws.

Through his mask intercom, Regris's languid voice said, "Report for evaluation."

Keith gritted his fangs until they dug painfully into his gums. "I failed."

"Assuredly, yes," Regris said, and the jerk almost sounded delighted. Keith ripped off his mask, blinking in the harsh, white light.

At hallway's end, Keith pressed his palm into the wall panel. It flared to life, and he stepped into the tube elevator. The door sealed with a wush of air, and it spend him upward and towards his inevitable evaluation. Stepping out, Keith commanded his blade to shrink-it would be an outright threat to walk into Kulivan's command room with his blade at its full length-and stored it a well-polished ember sheath. His father had given it to him, and although he couldn't remember his father's face, he cherished his gift. Maybe it meant so much because he knew so little about his father except that he'd died on a mission against the Galra Empire. When he was of age to start his Blades training, Keith's mother had given him his blade and sheath-not that he'd done his father or mother proud today.

In the simulation command room, Kulivan sat with his back to the door. Regris lounged over a council screen, and neither of them glanced at Keith as he stood soldier straight in the middle of the room. He glared at their backs, willing them to turn around. The last time he'd yelled at Kulivan, he'd been assigned to 'solitary penance' for five whole sleep cycles.

"Let's try something new-tell me why you failed," Kulivan said, his back still to Keith. In front of Kulivan, the play-back screens remained blank. Normally, Kulivan would pull up the video of the simulation and point out the myriad of mistakes-both mental and physical-that Keith made. This time, they sat ominously empty, and Keith found himself staring into his own, glaring yellow eyes set in a sweat-soaked, furred face.

"I failed to escape with the codes before the ship blew up," Keith said. "This could've been avoided if I had killed the guards."

Regris swiveled around in his chair, and he picked up a hand-held device with his preutensil tail. "We had two-dozen more guards ready-you couldn't have beat or snuck by them all," Regris said. He sighed. "Fortunately, you didn't destroy them all so we don't have to build another half-army for you to use up while still failing to miserably grasp the point of a stealth simulation."

"If the guards can't sound the alarm, then they can't start the destruct protocol," Keith said, crossing his arms defiantely across his chest.

He could practically feel Regris roll his eyes behind his mask, and Keith resisted the urge to growl at him. He had nothing personal against Regris until he had to take the simulation tests, and now, he'd developed a hair-trigger patience with the Galra tactician. The logical, rational part of Keith knew that Regris set these simulations difficult because he was often the one extracting the difficult, hard-won information on these missions while another Blade worked as his back-up. The part of Keith that had suffered too many ego bruisings at Regris's hands wanted to challenge the slight, Galra half-breed to honor bound combat in an arena. A good beating would fracture Regris's irritating calmness, Keith thought.

Kulivan spun around in his chair. His face set in eternally humorless lines, Kulivan said, "Fine, I will tell you-like a fresh pup recruit-why you've failed four simulations _consecutively_."

Keith's right eye-twitched, and he kept his gaze focused on Kulivan least he loose his temper with Regris, whom was assuredly smirking behind that mask.

"These are stealth simulations, and the point of all of them is to get the Galra's plans and get out. It does not matter if there are guards or if the building infiltration plans are inaccurate. It does not matter if the self destruct protocol has a timer or not. This is a two person mission, and other than a solo infiltration assignment, these are our most difficult missions. You have no back-up. It is you and your partner alone-and one of you must survive with the recovered plans."

Keith's anger seeped away, replaced with a lead-heavy certainty in his gut. Kulivan was correct-Keith thought he knew the point of these simulations, but now, he knew he'd been wrong the entire time.

"This isn't really about stealth, is it?" Keith asked, his voice pitched so low it was almost a growl. "This is about...about suicide...about leaving a partner behind."

"It happens, and to do the assignments you've begged to go on, this is a skill you must learn," Kulivan continued. Fixing Keith with a stern stare that felt like it could pierce Keith's deepest thoughts, Kulivan said, "You have failed because you can't accept this. To obtain the plans under a time-limited condition, you would have to leave your partner behind. It doesn't matter why a mission goes wrong, only that when it does, a Blade is ready to do what is necessary to continue the fight against Zarkon. You've yet to master this skill-and it is the most important skill a Blade has."

Keith's head drooped, and he stared at the smooth, ebony floor. "Knowledge or death," Keith mumbled. "It's the first thing I learned."

"Yet, it appears to be the last thing you've yet to master," Kulivan said dryly. Keith forced himself to meet the Blade leader's unflinching gaze again.

"Should I start all my training over again like a pup?" Keith asked, unable to bite back his hurt. "I'm a fully trained blade-I'm ready for real missions-my own missions."

Regris snorted, but Kulivan ignored him and kept his focus on Keith. "Consider your past failures in this context," Kulivan said, taping his temple with a finger, "and learn to manage your thoughts and emotions. If your judgement remains clouded, I can't recommend you for any more missions."

Keith sat across from Ulla and Ulaz, a pair of twins that had entered the Blades training around his own age. After his humiliation, Keith had bathed and intended to sulk in his room like a pup. When Ulla's voice came over his comm, he'd ignored it. Only after her pestering had he reluctantly slunk down to dinner.

Head resting on his hands, Keith picked moodily at the gelatinous, green protein pudding in front of him. His stomach rumbled, but if he ate the pudding too fast, he'd be sick. All of the nutrients a Galra body needed to recover strength were in it-distilled into their least appetizing form. Soylent they called it, and although his taste buds had become numb to it long ago, his stomach still revolted if he ate too much too fast.

"Kullivan won't fail you forever," Ulla said, slurping down a flavorless, beige beverage. Even Keith couldn't stomach the drinkable Soylent, although Ulla chugged it like a rare treat.

Keith snorted. "You weren't there. He'll have an entire Galra infantry droid division built for this simulaiton if that's how many of them I have to hack through to pass."

"That sounds like part of the problem," Ulaz said, fixing Keith with a knowing stare. Keith snarled-how much had Regris told him? Regris and Ulaz frequently did missions together, and although Ulaz was only Keith's senior by a year, he'd graduated to the rank of a full-fledged Blade member three years ago. While Ulaz sabotaged Galra bases and heisted valuable Galra plans, Keith was stuck at base training or running the pick-up and drop-off shuttle.

"Kulivan should've been clear what he wanted me to do-not left me bumbling in the dark," Keither grumbled and ate a large, spiteful spoon of Soylent.

"By this stage, it should be clear what the point of our missions are," Ulaz said cooly but not unkindly. "You've been around long enough to know that anything can happen."

"I was born into this life," Keith said. He pointed his spoon at Ulaz. "I know that our people don't make it back. My father didn't."

"Then you'll understand what Kulivan is preparing you for-to have one of us not come back," Ulaz said, and he cast his gaze down. Ulla stopped drinking, and her snout twitched with worry, and she reached to pat her brother on the back before her hand spasmed and she withdrew it. Keith cocked his head, ears twitching, reading Ulaz's brief break in stoicism.

Ulla glanced up, meeting Keith's gaze, but quickly looking down at her food. That the twins shared a special bond, he knew, but both tempered their emotions better than Keith. This rare break in their facades meant one thing-one of them had a long-term infiltration assignment.

"Which one of you is going?" Keith asked, voice soft.

Ulaz fixed Keith with a level, yellow-eyed gaze. "Me. We've been able to fabricate an identity for a soldier on one of Zarkon's prisoner ships."

Keith's ears twitched upwards in surprise. "That...that'll be dangerous. Those guards have to pass a lot of checks and are closely watched."

"They have access to all of the enemies Zarkon has imprisoned," Ulaz said. He rested his head on his fist, and his gaze became unfocused while his thoughts wondered. "Think of what we could do if we had more potential allies. Those Zarkon imprisons have a reason to hate him like we do, and they could have valuable information."

A frown twitched on Keith's face, but he banished it quickly. Already suspecting the answer, he asked, "And the prisoners-are you going to rescue them?"

Ulaz shot Keith a defiant glare and pushed away from the table. Both Ulla and Keith let him go, but Keith caught his sister's worried glance. The prisoners weren't the goal-obtaining valuable information to use against the Galra empire was. Keith's stomach turned over, and he pushed the Soylent away after losing his appetite.


	2. To Obey

2: To Obey

The dream came to Keith again-he would've traded a hundred days in solitary penance to be rid of it and get a solid night's sleep-but he had no choice but to relieve the brief yet taxing experience. Why it exhausted him and pierced his mind like a blade, he didn't know, but what the dream lacked in intensity it compensated for in severity.

Hairless Keith squatted behind his cover, and Keith strained for any more detail he could glean from his surroundings. He'd come here on a hovering, open-topped ship of some sort. The dome and its hairless guards remained wholly unfamiliar. They weren't Galra, and he couldn't place their uniforms-he'd looked into the Blade's databases on his own time, but none of their records matched the olive uniforms of the hairless humanoids. The symbols-a language?-never stuck in his mind.

Yet, Hairless Keith-whom he couldn't quite square with being himself yet he knew that that was unquestionably true-recognized who these people were. He needed to get into the building. To do that, he'd have to get past those guards.

Once again, Hairless Keith put down his binoculars, and Keith wordlessly seethed in frustration. If he'd only put those binoculars back on, he might see another clue. He needed to know who those people were, he needed to get inside of that dome-they had something he wanted.

No, not something-someone.

Keith jolted awake-and passed out again from his swirling headache.

When his eyes blinkered open again, he fumbled for his ice tabs and placed them on his forehead. Only then did he risk a tiny, half-choked laugh. He'd broken through and learned something new about his dream. The hairless humanoids had a prisoner, and Hairless Keith needed to rescue him. Without a doubt, Keith knew it would be the most important thing Hairless Keith had ever done.

How do you know what? Keith wondered. He kept his eyes closed to ease his headache, but that allowed him space to think.

He and Hairless Keith shared...a bond of sorts. This felt less like a dream now and more like a message-one that traveled between minds. How real Hairless Keith might actually be...another matter. He'd certainly never seen an alien lifeform that matched his appearance, but there were billions of lifeforms, and he was hardly a xenobiologist.

But Ulla was.

Keith's eyes popped open, and he winced, closing them again. He'd rest first and then pay Ulla a visit.

When Keith entered the medical bay, it appeared empty. That made sense-no one was injured, so Ulla wasn't actively involved doctoring one of the Blades. Keith stepped around the floating medical beds and stepped into the next room over, which included Ulla's massive research panel and screens. A holographic anatomical model of something with entirely too many legs hung suspended in mid-air like a ghost. Keith glanced at it before proceeding to the next room. Fully enclosed in a hazard suit, Ulla stood in a sludgy, green tank. Through the murky water, a creature that looked like the nightmare hologram squirmed under Ulla's grasp. She stuck it with a needle, extracting fluid from a sac on its stomach.

"Oh, Keith! Do you want to meet Tickles?" Ulla asked.

"Is this thing-"

"Tickles," she corrected him promptly, "is giving me some of his valuable bladder secretions. They heal burns marvelously."

"I see," Keith said, eyeing the squirming creature in the tank. He'd rather face an entire platoon of Galra than go near that thing.

After extracting another syringe of secretions, Ulla released Tickles and stepped out of the tank before sealing it. She turned on the anti-contamination shower, cleaned the suit, and then joined Keith, who still gazed suspiciously at Tickles.

Ulla shook out her fur to dry herself. "If you aren't here to see Tickles, then why did you come? My shining wit? Some order from Kolivan?"

"I need to ask you about a hairless humanoid species," Keith said. Ulla's face brightened, her canines pronounced. She motioned him to follow her into her computer research room. Ulla swiped aside the hologram and opened her database.

"Hairless...humanoids…" Ulla muttered as she punched in the search terms. She shot Keith a teasing look. "Did someone develop a new fetish?"

Keith froze as if struck by an enemy blow. He stammered, "No...no...I saw one in a dream."

Grinning, Ulla shook her head. She said, "Sounds like sexy business to me. Is that why you haven't been sleeping?"

"You know how much I sleep?" Keith asked, examining her control panel. There were no cameras to his room-he didn't think any had been installed. Everywhere in their base besides their private, Spartan rooms had surveillance.

"We have carbon dioxide sensors in the rooms-a sleeping person produces less carbon dioxide," Ulla replied neutrally. "I can gauge how much time any of you spend in your room. All of you train a lot, but your sleep patterns have been irregular-you're producing more carbon dioxide than normal. That's a sure sign of bad sleep-waking is a higher metabolic state."

Stunned by this intrusion into his privacy, Keith shook his head. "Here I thought Regris was the spy,"Keith muttered.

Casting him a furtive look, Ulla said, "It's for your own good, you know. I figured your lack of rest was due to failing the simulations so many times recently."

"Not a bad assumption," Keith muttered, chafing under the reminder, "but I've been having a really vivid dream-it feels real-and these hairless humanoids are in it."

He neglected to mention that, in this dream, he was one of the hairless humanoids. Ulla gave him a pitying look. She said, "Dreams are just a product of carbon based nervous systems-random firings to organize the brain. This dream doesn't mean anything. More than likely, it's how you're psychologically coping with failing the simulation."

Clenching his fists, Keith willed his irritation under control. No, this was no effect of the simulation, although the failed simulation and the dream had started occurring at the same time. There might be something to that, he thought, tucking the uncomfortable coincidence away for later. At the moment, he needed to know how much-if any-part of the dream was grounded in reality.

"There are 879 hairless humanoids in the known universe," Ulla said, leaning back in the chair.

"I thought the number would be...smaller," Keith said, staring at the seemingly endless list. "Could you copy them all for me?"

Ulla placed a tiny, circular chip onto her panel and transferred the list. When she'd finished, she glanced up at Keith, and her expression sobered. She said, "This really is bothering you...it's not a joke."

"It's the dream," Keith said and took the chip from her. He slipped it into his belt, but his gaze lingered on Ulla's console. A single folder marked with the mission encryption codes he'd seen Kulivan use caught his gaze.

"You have your brother's file," Keith said simply. Ulla flashed him a dangerous look. "He never should've showed you."

She went to blank the screens but stopped herself-instead of meeting Keith's gaze with fiery defiance. In a low voice, Ulla said, "You're not going to tell Kulivan-or Ulaz-that you saw this."

She had him there-of course, he wouldn't. He wouldn't betray Ulaz his moment of weakness. Kulivan forbid Blades from sharing mission files with each other. If any were captured or their headquarters were invaded, it prevented them from being able to give up their fellows. No Blade except Kulivan knew how many Blade agents operated inside the Galra ranks. Keith knew roughly ten Blades that had left on those missions-including his mother-and he'd never seen any of them since.

"He really cares for you," Keith said, eyeing the file.

Ulla sighed, and to Keith's shock, she opened it. Keith soaked in the information. Ulaz would be a guard on the main prisoner barrage, processing new prisoners. It was a Class IV assignment, which meant Ulaz would need to be impersonating the rank of a Lieutenant in good military standing, which meant at least participating in several 'peace-keeping' efforts and probably at least two invasions. Keith exhaled-he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.

"This is a serious job-"

"And he leaves in seven sleep cycles," Ulla said, closing the file. "He says he's ready-we've all trained for this-but he's still scared. I remember when our father was assigned. We lost communication with him. He's dead, but Kulivan won't say that. You know how it is...everyone is 'missing in action.'"

"I know," Keith said, glancing down at his hands. He'd checked the log files, and he'd seen his mom's code name report in during her planet's last sun cycle. She lived, but for how long, he couldn't say. She'd been under cover for half his life-nine sun cycles-and she couldn't visit or maintain contact with any Blades directly. Her encrypted messages and intelligence was all of her that existed, and he didn't even get to read those.

If she wished him well or thought of him, Keith would never know-maybe never again. He trusted she loved him, but when he scratched into that feeling, even it felt hollow.

"You don't like this mission," Keith said. From the details-reporting on Zarkon's prisoners-he didn't think he'd like it much either.

"I-we-don't have a choice whether we like the missions we're given-we just do them," Ulla said. "That's why you can't pass the simulations, you know-you really don't understand that."

Keith muttered, "You might be right...I'd want to free the prisoners."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, and it descended into Keith's gut. Hairless Keith wanted to free someone-whoever was in that building-and Keith felt that desperation like it was his own. There was nothing Hairless Keith wouldn't do to get into the building, and that same dream feeling burned inside of Keith now. Maybe Kulivan was right about him...he'd failed to learn the first and most important lesson of being a Blade.

"Just...go." Ulla turned away from him, "and happy research with your hairless humanoids."

Keith walked away and wandered aimlessly back to his room. He sat on his bed and stared at his Spartan surroundings. He accepted his life for what it was-a sacrifice to free the galaxy from Zarkon. Yet, it was Kulivan and his stupid rules and test simulations that kept him here...kept him from fulfilling his duty to defeat the Galra empire.

Where did that thought come from? Keith wondered, and his face crinkled in confusion. As a Blade, he'd no illusions-at least before now-that he could defeat Zarkon. The best the blades hoped for was to hobble Zarkon and keep him from expanding his influence. Even though they were well-trained and well-organized, they weren't large enough or powerful enough to defeat Zarkon.

And yet...that was a lie. Some part of you knows that you can defeat Zarkon, Keith thought. Stunned, he gazed unseeingly at the wall. Instead, he pictured the domed building and the hairless humanoids guarding it-no, guarding someone.

Not a dream-a message.

More than anything, Keith was certain he had to get into that building-he had to rescue that person. That person was a prisoner-of Zarkon? Keith jerked up as if struck by a bolt of plasma energy.

That was the answer-it wasn't the domed building he needed to get into but Zarkon's prison...and Ulaz was assigned to go there. Stealing another's mission would be treasonous-he didn't think it had ever been done-and might wreck his relationship with the Blades forever, and yet…

He had to do this. Whatever geas like compulsion moved him, he didn't know, but he had to get into that prison.

Seven sleep cycles-that was the time he had to devise a plan to steal Ulaz's assignment.

It took him a sleep cycles to work out the problems. The greatest problem was Regris's security surveillance. Each ship had its own code sets, and Keith knew most of them. The problem was that each ship also alerted the main control room-maintained and watched by Regris personally-with near constant vigilance. If he took a ship out without prior notification, it would signal the control room. That would alert the other Blades, and they would chase him down if not catch him outright before he could even open the hangar doors to launch.

This was the easiest problem for Keith to solve, although it took a total of four busy sleep cycles to finish his solution. The perk of being the Blade's go-to pilot meant Keith was undeniably the best pilot they had. He and Antok fixed the ships, too, and Keith had done modifications to his favorite ship-changes that had largely gone either unnoticed or unremarked upon by Kulivan, although Keith suspected Antok knew what he'd done. The WormHole-86 was an older Galra cruiser model, but he'd replaced nearly every part. It couldn't go as fast as their stealth ships, but it could maintain its top speed at least four times as long as one of the Galra stealth model's they'd captured.

Keith figured Ulaz would take one of the stealth ships. That left him with one golden opportunity-if he could get the WormHole-86 out of the hanger and give himself enough time, he'd build a start that the stealth ship couldn't hope to catch. To do that, he had to dismantled the WormHole-86's alarm system. While it took time, it was easy enough, and he interspersed his illicit activity with mundane engine checks for when Antok was around the hanger.

The second problem Keith thought he couldn't fix. He didn't know what uniform Ulaz planned to wear, and he didn't know where it was being kept. Potentially, Ulaz had the uniform stored in the stealth ship-and Keith didn't have the codes for those. He'd have to acquire something outside of the Blade headquarters that would help him pass as the Galra officer he was supposed to impersonate.

That lack of preparation could ruin everything...but he pushed that thought away and ignored the treasonous squirming in his gut.

The third problem, and the one he aimed to solve two sleep cycles before he left, was the easiest one-he had to have Ulaz's assignment file. He couldn't ask him for it-a 'hey, can I get your secret mission file?' wouldn't cut it-so he'd have to steal it. Ulaz had done half the work for him-the file was already with Ulla. The hard part was that he had to have a reason to go into the medical bay that wouldn't make Ulla suspicious of him.

He'd devised the brilliant plan to get stabbed.

During his training, Keith dialed up the difficulty setting-but it was something he usually did every several sleep cycles now. He trained like normal until near the end of the session when he paused at the wrong moment and stepped into a droid blade thrust.

Keith passed out from the pain.

You could've had a better plan, he thought as he drifted back into consciousness. He growled and winced at the searing pain in his abdomen.

Ulla's delicate sigh floated down to him. "Let me give you a SleepPac-"

"No," Keith blurted out, swallowing down his own 'yes please!' A SleepPac would dull the pain and give him rest, but it would leave him groggy and dreary. He needed to stay alert-or at least at his usual level of addled-to have a chance of stealing the file from Ulla.

"This can't feel good," Ulla said, prodding his wound. Keith sunk his fangs into his gums, but refused to cry out. Ulla snorted at his show of resolution, and she began to treat his wound. Keith almost slid into unconsciousness without the aid of the SleepPac several times, but his mind wouldn't let him free. After Ulla cauterized the wound and sowed it up, Keith's muscles uncoiled in relief. He lay in his own sweaty mess on the medical bay bed, listening to Ulla work.

Keith blinked-jerking awake. He'd drifted off.

His heart hammered, but he sucked in a steadying breath. Get ahold of yourself, he thought. He pursed his ears, listening. No sounds of Ulla working-only the hum of the various machines in the medical bay. Tentatively, Keith turned his head, and a precursory scan of the medical bay confirmed what he already knew-he was alone.

Fishing in his boot, Keith's fingers pried free a series of three, tiny circular chips he'd tucked away. His work in the communication room allowed him to swipe these, and he separated the little disks. Easing his way off the table, Keith hobbled to the Ulla's control panel.

Two sleep cycles-would that be enough to heal these wounds? He had no extra time, but he would've done this little stunt earlier if he'd known how monumentally he'd have to maim himself for it to be convincing.

Prying ope the panel, Keith placed one disk to copy the information and another to cloak the file transfer. The third one stayed with Keith, and he placed it back into his boot before staggering back to bed. The copied file would go to that disk, and he'd leave the medical bay with all the information he needed. As he hopped up on the medical bed, Ulla breezed into the room. Keith froze, and she gave him a quizzical look.

"I thought you would still be passed out." Ulla crossed her arms, her nose twitching as if it was doing its own thinking.

Keith gave a little shrug and did his best to remain blank-faced. He couldn't hope to pull off a look of innocence-she'd know he was lying for sure.

"I guess I'm feeling better," he said neutrally.

Ulla cocked an eyebrow. "If you say so. I wouldn't do anything vigorous for at least four-no, for you, five-sleep cycles."

Keith smirked, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "Sure," he said, slipping off the hospital bed. He forced himself not to look back when he left the medical bay, even though he felt a prickling between the back of his shoulder blades. It was just his guilty consciousness making him think Ulla watched him leave-he had to believe that.

Two sleep cycles...that's all he had left, and because of his injury, he could spend all of his time readying the WormHole-86 instead of training.

The night of his escape, Keith lay in his bed unable to sleep. Staring into the darkness, he couldn't banish the guilt for what he was about to do. If he did this-no, when he did this-he'd betray the trust of all the Blades. They were the only family he'd ever known, and he was about to throw that away-for what?

There's someone in that prison you have to find, he reminded himself. It was the person Hairless Keith had gone to find in that dome.

You'll also be accomplishing the Blades' mission, he told himself. He wouldn't betray the Blades. Instead of Ulaz, he'd take that mission upon his shoulders. Kulivan didn't think he was ready, but he was wrong. You're a good fighter and a better pilot-the best they have, Keith thought.

That better be true because his escape-and someone else's life-depended upon it.


	3. Assignment in the Galra Army

3: Assignment in the Galra Army

Join the Empire-bring Peace to the Galaxy.

Serve Zarkon-bring Honor to the Galra.

The purple words floated on the comm screen in Lance's lap. A dark laugh bubbled up inside of him, but he swallowed it. The middle of the imperial Galra registration center was no place to start a giggling fit.

Join the empire-not that he had a choice.

Bring peace to the galaxy-not likely.

Serve Zarkon-hopefully, he'd never lay eyes on the old cat.

Bring honor to the Galra-they'd probably prefer he wasn't one of their species at all.

But Lance was Galra, and as a duty to his clan, he would join the imperial Galra infantry for thirty sleep cycles. Refusing to join the Galra army would condemn his family to work in the mines, a fate the Galra reserved for the alien peoples they subjugated. Lance wouldn't let his family suffer because the thought of being an imperial soldier made his guts squirm. After eighteen sun cycles, every able-bodied Galra was expected to serve their empire-and by extension, their emperor. Lance would be no exception.

Not an invasion force corps, Lance pleaded mentally as he finished reading his contract of service-of servitude more like it-on his comm screen. Lance tapped the screen, signing his Galra name and clan-Lorran of Claithan.

Lorran-no one called him that. Well, his mom did when she was mad at him, but he'd picked up the nickname Lance so young that he'd forgotten where-and who-had given it to him. It was a better, cooler name than Lorran, and that's what mattered.

Lance sunk back against the metal wall, his shoulders relaxing into its coolness. Now that he'd signed thirty sun cycles of his life away to the Galra empire, he had to wait for them to tell him where they'd make him serve the first five cycles. Afterward, he'd have options for other assignments-promotions or possibly in Lance's case demotions-but the first five cycles were known to be a somewhat random assignment. Not really random, he knew, because Galra that lived in the Central Command System-nearer to the heart of Galra power-got the best assignments and usually had connections. Lance lived on Veltria, the eighth planet in a sixteen planet solar system. He wasn't the son of the Claithan clan chief or related to anyone of note-his family ran errands for the clan.

As a delivery boy, he'd get whatever dreg job no one else in the imperial infantry wanted. At least that might keep him out of active invasion zones-the last places Lance wanted to be deployed. He wouldn't mind some excitement but subduing hostile aliens-not his thing. His dislike of wrestling and fighting made an aberration among his clan, but he was an insignificant member, so nothing great was ever expected of him.

"You finished your forms already?" Hunk said, sitting down on the butt-numbing bench beside Lance.

"It's easy-just ask to do something boring," Lance muttered, feeling a little part of his soul die. Gods, he'd be wasting thirty sun cycles of his life in the infantry...

Hunk grinned, baring his fangs. "That's the plan. I figure they'll need an engineer somewhere-preferably somewhere without lots of-pew, pew, pew-"

Hunk mimicked shooting a laser pistol, and Lance gave a half-lean, half-shrug. "We're not important enough to go into an invasion zone, but 'The empire needs all its people to maintain thousands of years of greatness'," Lance said, deepening his voice and mimicking the recruitment material. Both of them grinned half-heartedly-the Galra empire, so distant on far-flung Veltria-felt crushingly real now.

Hunk stretched his arms behind his head and rested his head on his intertwined palms. "Thousand ticks of doing nothing right now, though. Got to take advantage of our last chances to be lazy. They're going to make us do martial training, you know."

A grin tugged on Lance's lips for the first time since he'd entered the austere recruitment center. He said, "That's the only thing I'm looking forward to."

Hunk leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow. "You never liked wrestling or sparring."

Lance shrugged. "Maybe there's more they can teach us in martial training-you know, some secret Galra fighting techniques."

"Martial training is supposed to be brutal," Hunk said, shuddering. "They make you run...they only let you eat two meals a day…no dinner, Lance-no dinner for twenty-one sleep cycles!"

"But we get to become real Galra, real soldiers," Lance said, his legs twitching with involuntary excitement. He'd never been the strongest pup, but the Galra army turned anyone-even nobodies like Lance-into elite warriors. He'd get to pilot fighters, stealth ships, and cruisers instead of junky, slow delivery and cargo ships. Unlike Hunk, he was lean and built for speed, and Lance pictured a wise, grey-furred Galra soldier that would surely teach him how to hone his naturally lanky body into a weapon.

Grunting, Hunk said, "I'd rather have the food, cat."

Lance rolled his yellow eyes, settling back into the bored stasis of waiting.

"Out here...you're really not bored?" Lance asked and dropped his emotional barrier and ventured the question, casting a cautious glance at Hunk. Lance exhaled in relief when Hunk shrugged-completely indifferent to his moral quandary.

Hunk arched a furry eyebrow. "Why would I be? I like to fix things-I don't need to fight on the front lines of a galactic war to do that. Cat, I thought you didn't want to fight, either."

With a half-embarrassed shrug, Lance said, "I don't want to fight...I mean, I don't want to-"

Lance's inelegant blubbering was cut short by his comm's beeping. Lance flipped open his command and read the message. His heart skipped several beats before the words sank in….

Infantry: Central Command….

It listed his date of deployment, but Lance didn't read it. The information seeped into his brain like sap, but his carbon-based senses couldn't hope to comprehend it. He was going to Central Command-his family and clan would be overjoyed. He had no prospects at all, and this was an unexpected boon.

Yet, it was the exact last thing Lance wanted.

The only thing that kept Lance from bolting from the new cadets' platform was Hunk, who stood beside him and solid as a rock. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Lance glanced at the Galra officers-each ready to corral them aboard the space crafts that would fly them hundreds of thousands of ticks away to the Galra Central Command. First, they'd deploy to an intermediate base for twenty-one sleep cycles of martial training. During training, they would be evaluated by the Lieutenants in charge, and before leaving for Central Command, they'd take a final skills test.

Jerking around, Lance waved to his family. Over fifty-a suspiciously large group-of Valteria natives would be crated almost a hundred sun cycles to the Galra Central command. It was an unprecedented honor-and Lance wouldn't shake his suspicions. Sending him to war-to die on the front lines of the Galra conquest-didn't feel like a great honor.

It's for your family, Lance told himself...even if he didn't believe it in his heart.

The transport shuttle ramp descended with a puff of grandiose yet ominous smoke. Lance hesitated, dragging his feet. When Hunk drudged up the ramp, Lance kicked himself into motion, forcing himself to keep pace with his eager comrades. After all, they did the Galra empire an honor.

Lance waved to his two sisters and mother while the door shut. He waved with a child's enthusiasm, yet it felt like the door shut at warp speed. When it clicked closed, Lance's hand dropped limply by his side.

The vehicle jerked, and Lance staggered, gripping Hunk's bicep. The transport launched into space, and Lance's gut sank. Would he see his mom and sisters again? He couldn't say, but he had no control of the ship, which streaked into the boundless realms of space.

Note: I figured 'cat' would be the Galra equivalent of 'man'.


	4. Martial Training

**4\. Martial Training**

After twenty-cycles of martial training, Lance wanted to leap out of an air hatch-at least he wouldn't have to tolerate Haxus's caustic abuse. When he'd been assigned to Central Command, Lance had never anticipated his greatest thorn would be martial training. He hadn't expected to enjoy it like a day at the spa, but it broke him down and left him exhausted in the barracks every night. Lieutenant Haxus drilled them to scale obstacles, run exhausting distances, and on mental endure. Haxus delivered the grueling training Lance yearned for.

Yet, Lance never foresaw a crucial detail-Haxus would be petty.

During the first day, Haxus praised the efforts of certain cadets, and after several days, even Lance couldn't help but identify a pattern. To Lance's chagrin, Haxus glazed over Hunk, whose strength and size glossed over any physical flaws. Haxus's ire settled like a thundercloud over Lance's head, and after every drill, Haxus rained down snide, verbal abuse upon him.

Today was no exception.

"I see we're unable to surpass a seven tick distance again, cadet," Haxus said, leaning over the runners' track. Lance propelled himself through the finish line, staggered forward several paces, and promptly vomited upon the track. Haxus's mocking laugh drifted through his haze-a cause of weakness and exertion.

Curse Hunk-Lance did miss three meals a day.

Several Galra cades sprinted by Lance, who sagged against the fence to catch his breath. Lance wiped the spittle off his mouth, and it stuck like glue in his dusky, purple fur. It wouldn't matter how many cadets' ran slower than him-even Lance learned in the first several sleep cycles that his abilities were worthless. The rankings of the Galra Central command weren't fair, and he had to suffer through Haxus's hazing.

Lance's two choices were desert or suffer-so he had one choice.

The Central Command cadets cheered for their tribemates, but Lance staggered away from the finish, dejected. It would never matter that he always finished in the top fifth of cadets during their speed trials-he'd seen that Haxus changed his times several sleep cycles ago when he'd had his best time. Lance finished third, and the top Central command cadet was fifth-so Haxus demoted Lance to sixth via a flimsy technicality.

After that, all hope in the fairness of the universe evaporated from Lance's soul.

You can survive five life cycles in this assignment, Lance mentally coached himself-even as he gagged and dry-heaved between the bars of a fence.

"What a loser…"

"Wonder how many ticks he'll lose for tossing his stomach..."

Too many-that's how many-Lance thought as he tried to swallow his bile. He failed and vomited on Hunks's feet.

Hunk shook off his flexible, charcoal boots and scattered intestinal sludge across the space deck. "Come on, Lance-not here."

Lance flushed, and his fur tingled. He'd at least expected to rely on Hunk-a cousin and genuine friend-but competition would severe them as well. Lance decided that's what martial training was really designed to do-destroy friendships.

"Sorry," Lance stammered and wiped the vomit off his foot-molded Galran boot.

Dripping with sweat, Hunk ignored Lance and bolted for the shower. Lance's stomach jerked-in two sleep cycles, they'd deploy for Central Command. Tomorrow, they'd take their skills tests for their assignments at Central. Not like that mattered now-Lance had lost his closest family and friend several sleep cycles ago.

"Cadet, what's wrong?" Haxus sidled up to Lance. Haxus's teasing was barely veiled.

Lance cast Haxus a cool, sideways glance-even as Lance moped at his own sweat-drenched fur face.

"Finished my run-sir!"

Lance bellowed the 'sir'-Haxus had punished him for forgetting the 'sir' on sleep cycle four.

Haxus gave Lance a cool, sideways look of appraisal. Lance froze like prey that had been spotted by a massive beast. If he didn't move, if he didn't appear threatening, maybe this predator wouldn't see him.

"You're going to love Central Command," Haxus drawled, stepping behind Lance. Every hair in Lance's body itched to turn and face his aggressor. Even as his hackle's rose, Lance stayed rooted.

"Why is that...sir?"

Haxus chuckled lightly. "You'll get a chance to see how real soldiers serve the empire. There's always a cadet here or there that gets assigned to central that doesn't belong…"

Unable to control himself, Lance spun around-and Haxus kneed him in the gut, dropping Lance to his knees. Haxus stepped around Lance with ease and a lazy, "Dismissed."

Lance's hand dropped to the floor, and even long after Haxus's footsteps retreated, he stayed hunched and trembling-barely containing his rage. He was impotent to act against Haxus-his superior officer-or as Haxus himself might've said, his superior in every way.

That's not true, Lance told himself, shaking his head and breaking his self-imposed stasis. That bastard had no heart-admittedly not something highly prized in the Galra army.

You'll find a way to survive at Central-for five sun cycles at least, you'll have to, Lance thought as he wiped the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he entered the showers, Hunk was already dressing to leave. His little talk with Haxus meant that Lance was the last to shower, and they were the only ones there. This time, it was Lance's turn to ignore his former friend.

Hunk cleared his throat loudly. "You...ugh...ran fast today."

"I usually do," Lance said, stripping off his training suit before stepping into the shower.

"Look, cat, I'm sorry I haven't hung around with you as much," Hunk said, his voice drifting in from the main room. Lance gritted his teeth, refusing to reply. He didn't need Hunk's pity. Ever likable, Hunk was popular among the recruits. It probably helped that he didn't have their commander hazing him during every training session.

"Lance?" Hunk's voice was softer, and he stepped back into the shower room.

"You know I'm in here," Lance snapped.

"I just wanted to...to say I'm sorry."

Lance rolled his yellow eyes. "You're sorry-for what-treating me like the pariah I am? Yeah, I noticed. No one wants to hang around with Haxus's chew toy."

Hunk's shoulders drooped. "Look, cat-"

Lance pushed past him. Lance said, "We'll be at central soon-where you'll have plenty of space to avoid me."

"That's not-"

Lance pulled on a clean smock for bed and left the room. He didn't want Hunk's pity. It was going to be difficult enough for him to survive in central. No one, not even his old friend, could be counted upon anymore. Martial training had taught him that much. He was in the Galra army now-friends were a luxury he couldn't afford.

The final day of martial training, all cadets took a series of tests to determine their assignments and placements-piloting proficiency, a technical test with several parts, martial skills, and a psychological evaluation. In the morning, Lance took piloting and technical skills. Lance's only hope of possibly escaping drudgery on Central Command was to do well on those, but he doubted he finished top in either category. While he knew his way around a cockpit, his reflexes in the fighter simulation hadn't been good-he didn't have the killer instinct and worked to evade rather than attack.

"Cadet Toki," the name boomed over the speaker. Lance glanced up from where he slumped on the wall. They'd split the group during the marital tests, and Lance would go last in his group. At least he didn't have to test with Hunk-that would be unbearable.

He's probably acing these tests, Lance thought, and his shoulders sagged. He wasn't concerned about his run time, which he'd already done, but now, he would have to spar. His specialty was dodging, but he was terrible at landing a blow or pinning an enemy.

"Cadet Lorran."

Lance's stomach rolled, and he shuffled forward. The door slid open, and Lance walked down a short hallway. At the end, a metal ring awaited him, and his guts twisted when he saw Lieutenant Tyra with two heavy swords-one in each hand. She flipped the one blade around and presented it to Lance handle first. While Tyra hadn't antagonized him like Haxus, she hadn't been pleased with his inability to decisively finish his opponent.

Today, the hard look in her gaze meant she'd likely take that displeasure out on him personally.

Lance walked over to his red starting mark, striking a starting position against Tyra. "Commence match."

Tyra smirked and began to pace, trying to ease her way closer to Lance, who backed away but avoided putting himself directly against the wall.

"Come at me, pup," Tyra said, grinning. Lance swallowed, but he didn't take the bait. His only chance was to trick Tyra into attacking him at the wrong time and from too far away. He toyed with distance, sometimes moving faster or slower, and he threw in some trick cross steps, but Tyra kept pace.

Lance feigned an attack, and with a grunt, Tyra charged. Lance dodged the initial blow, but she caught him under the knees. Dropping his sword, Lance used both hands to vault over her. He sprawled on his knees and staggered up. Tyra lunged at him, but he wriggled out of her grasp and kicked her in the face.

Trya hissed, and Lance dove for his sword. Tyra knocked the air out of his lungs when she collided with him. She pinned him beneath her, even as Lance struggled for the sword that was beyond his fingertips.

"Do you yield?" Tyra asked mockingly.

Glancing longingly at his sword, Lance muttered, "I yield."

"I knew you would," Tyra said, but she got off Lance, allowing him to breathe. Lance left the arena, knowing he had his poorest score of the day.

Being a terrible warrior should keep you from active combat, Lance told himself, but a part of him wished he could've shown them wrong and defeated Tyra.

After washing up, Lance went to an assigned room for his personality test. Unlike the martial test, no one administered the initial test to him, which was a relief. The first part of the test had him picking from hypothetical circumstances, and in the second part, he wrote essays on several moral issues. Of course, he lied on most of it and answered like any good Galra cadet. He knew the lines-the empire brought peace to the galaxy, Zarkon's long reign provided untold stability-blah blah blah.

When asked what he would personally do in battle, Lance kept it vague and refused to state where and how he'd prefer to fight. He didn't want to be on the front lines, but he didn't want to come across as a coward. 'It depends on the situation I find myself in and the people who are attempting to harm myself and my fellow soldiers' was his thesis, and he elaborated on it with more equivocating language.

When he finished his personality test, Lance waited in the room for his final assignment. When the door slid open, Lance's stomach dropped. The one good thing about today was that he hadn't seen Haxus at all-but now, he stood in the doorway, sneering at Lance.

"Cadet Lorran, let us see how you fared," Haxus said, pacing around Lance. To keep his palms from sweating, Lance placed them on his lap.

"Predictably, your martial scores were abysmal," Haxus said dryly, "and your personality is...lacking...for even an average Galra soldier."

Lance pictured himself tackling Haxus, and he swallowed a lump of hatred in his throat. If Haxus were the one he'd fought today…

You would've been just-no, more-embarrassed than if you'd lost to Lieutenant Tyra, Lance told himself. Haxus would've taken personal pleasure in humiliating him.

"It seems like you have at least some redeeming talent with your software and electrical skills," Haxus said, turning to face Lance. A cruel grin crossed Haxus's face. "But it also seems like you've had plenty of experience piloting slow, cargo aircraft."

Lance's stomach dropped. For a moment, he held out hope that he'd done something well enough to get a somewhat interesting assignment, but the devious gleam in Haxus's gaze told Lance no such thing had happened.

"To make up for your personal failings, I think a double shift could prove useful for you, Cadet," Haxus said, fixing Lance with a challenging stare-daring him to protest.

"Yes, sir," Lance squeaked. He hardly trusted himself to speak at all.

Haxus grinned. "I thought you'd see it my way. You'll do your normal shift piloting cargo and maintenance ships, and you'll do a second shift every several sleep cycles in the comm room. The solar night is an awfully dull time, but a cadet with your skills should be able to manage it."

Numb all over, Lance nodded like an automaton. At least his training had taught him one thing-how to lie and obey when all he felt was pent-up anger.

Haxus waved a hand. "Dismissed."

Lance stood and walked out of the room, feeling like he was in someone else's body. If he thought about the monumental unfairness of his assignment, he might snap and try and murder Haxus. That would land him in prison, and he didn't want to go there-he'd barely survived martial training.


	5. Mission Failure

**5\. Mission Failure**

Pidge's fingers brushed the smooth walls of the cell. How many days had passed in this cell? How long had she spent apart from her father? Where had they taken him? When the Galra—real, live flesh and blood aliens—separated them, she and Shiro had been dragged onto one vessel. Her shouts still rang in her head—her screams calling for her dad as the Galra tore her away from him...maybe forever.

The Galra—aliens. Before Kerberos, she would've been excited to meet real aliens. Then they encountered the Galra, and she wanted to live in ignorance again.

The terrible thing about the Galra was that they weren't like aliens from nightmares—all sharp fangs and tentacles—but real, sentient beings. They spoke and acted like human soldiers—that much Pidge could deduce. She heard them patrol the hallway outside of her cell, and sometimes, they'd give each other a friendly word. That banality was scarier than all the extra appendages in the galaxy.

The Galra were sentient, and they wanted her in prison. They'd planned this—she was part of their system now.

"Dad, I'll find you," Pidge whispered into the darkness. "I won't let them keep me in here."

"Pidge?"

She started, her eyes snapping open. The only light in the cell was a faint, purple glow from near the door. Pidged traced her fingers across the wall again. Tentatively, she whispered, "Hello?"

"Pidge," the muffled voice said. Pidge sat up, glancing around. She thought she knew that voice, and her heart sped up, but she couldn't allow herself to hope. Not here...at least, not yet.

"Where are you?" Pidge asked, feeling her way along the wall.

"An adjacent cell, but I can't tell...there's a vent near my head," Shiro said. A small smile touched PIdge's face, and she pressed her head to the wall while her finger's traced the metal for air vents.

She whispered, "Keep talking, Shiro. I need to find that vent."

"It's small...ten slits...about a centimeter wide...ten centimeters long," Shiro said, and Pidge nodded, taking her time to trace the cell. Shiro's voice sounded like it was coming from below her and not beside her.

"You might be in the cell underneath mine," she said, lowering her head to the floor.

"Sounds about right...but it's disorienting in here," Shiro said. "I think you're correct...you sound above me."

Fumbling at her feet, Pidge bit her lip. A small breeze caressed her fingers, and she gasped with uncontained joy. The grates were small, but they were a chink in this seemingly unpenetrable prison. She lay on her stomach and pressed her ear to it.

"I found the vent," Pidge said.

A soft laugh from below her. "I knew you would," Shiro said, and he sounded closer. Tears prickled at Pidge's eyes. She'd been isolated for what felt like endless days not knowing if Shiro or her dad were even alive. At least now, she knew she wasn't alone—she had a friend in this prison.

"I'm so sorry, Shiro," Pidge choked.

"For what? You didn't get us captured, Pidge," he said softly. "None of us knew about the Galra...none of us saw them coming."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Pidge nodded and forced herself to think clearly. "At least...at least Matt isn't here—he's safe on Earth," she said. For the first time, she didn't feel guilty about taking her brother's place on the Kerberos mission. Due to beurocratic incompetence, the mission had been delayed, but it was meant to be Matt, her father, and Shiro who were to go to Kerberos. While she was still in the academy, Matt trained to be their communications officer. During a flight simulation, Matt injured himself, but the mission was several weeks away, and they couldn't afford to delay again. Because she'd spent so much time around her dad and Matt, Pidge knew more about the mission than anyone else that wasn't going on it. Her father gave her special permissions to go, and she was able to graduate from the academy early—literal days before they left for Kerberos.

It all felt like a mistake now—they should've all stayed on Earth.

Shiro sighed. "Pidge, are you hurt? I'm not, but I didn't know if they did anything to you or your dad."

Pidge swallowed, shaking her head. Stupid, she thought—Shiro couldn't see her. She said, "I'm fine—physically—but I've been in this cell...alone."

"I know what you mean," Shiro said, his voice weary. "It's not complete sensory deprivation, but it's close. I haven't been able to track how many days I've been in here."

"Same. They left me, and I have no idea what they did to...to dad," Pidge choked out.

"Listen to me," Shiro said, "your dad is going to be okay. He's a survivor—just like you, Pidge. Stay focused. We're both unhurt. Whatever they have planned for us, we'll survive it."

A small smile slipped across Pidge's lips—only to be replaced by a muffled gasp of fear when Shiro said, "There's someone at my door."

Heart pounding in her ears, Pidge covered her mouth to keep herself from crying out. She didn't trust herself not to call out to Shiro, but if the Galra knew they could communicate, they'd be separated again. Then, she'd truly be alone in this hellish prison. She needed Shiro—she needed to cling to the only other friend she had here.

"Shackle him," a Galra guard said. Shiro grunted, and Pidge wished she could see what was going on down in Shiro's cell. Instead, she gazed helplessly into the darkness.

A door clanged shut below, and Pidge counted a hundred rapid, panicked heartbeats before she spoke.

"Shiro?"

No answer. Pidge shivered, but she leapt to her feet. If they'd come for Shiro…

She raced to the stiff, metal cot that served at her bed. Curling tight into a ball, Pidge pressed her eyes tightly shut. Unable to control her shivers, she lay on the bed for an eternity expecting the door to burst open. When no Galra came for her, her heart slowed, and Pidge allowed herself to roll onto her back and stare up at the ceiling.

They'd taken Shiro from her—her last friend and the only other human in this prison. What would they do to him...she had no idea.

After an untold amount of time, the door banged open downstairs. Pidge jumped up and leaned over the air vent. The breeze tickled her cheek, but below, the guards dragged someone—hopefully Shiro—into the cell. When the door clanged shut, Pidge braved a whisper.

"Shiro?"

No reply. Swallowing her rising panic, she tried again.

"Shiro, it's me. Are you okay?"

Loud footfalls outside her door made Pidge leap up. Whirling around, she pressed herself against the wall. Her door opened, and a violet light seemed around the shape of two guards. Behind them stood a figure with a sharp, beak like mask and four, glowing slits for eyes. Pidge screamed and darted away from the first guard that reached for her. They were strong, but she was small and nimble, able to slip through their grasps.

She collided with...with the thing. It saw her—with what she presumed to be eyes, although it was so terrifyingly alien she couldn't know.

It saw through her, and when it extended a long-fingered hand, Pidge's entire body shuddered. She slumped over at its feet, and the guards shackled her wrist behind her back.

"Slippery thing," one of them muttered.

"Come," the creature said in a distant voice, "it is time to explore this one's potential."

Actions


	6. Leaving Marmora

Several solar systems away from the prison ship, Keith stared into the darkness. The little button on his wrist vibrated—not that he'd need to be woken up. Already dressed, Keith slipped from his bed. He'd already stored a personal sachet in the WormHole-86, so he had nothing to grab. Keith's fingers traced lightly over the hilt of his blade, and he set his face in a grim line. This was it—he'd be betraying the only family he'd ever known.

Banishing his doubts under half a lifetime of military discipline, Keith slid back the panel and slipped from his room. While everyone slept, he had a chance. Between his knowledge of the base layout and his Galra senses, Keith found the WormHole-86 in darkness. The mechanical noises of the opening door made his fur bristle, but his fears were irrational. There was no one else in the bay to see or hear him.

That's what Keith had thought—until Ulaz stepped out from behind a stealth ship.

Keith whirled around and resisted the urge to draw his blade. Cooly, Ulaz surveyed Keith, who steadied himself. To leave the base now, Keith knew what he'd have to do—he just needed to stall Ulaz a bit and catch him off guard—not an easy task.

"You're taking the cruiser out," Ulaz said, and an eyebrow quirked upwards.

And so are you, Keith thought, but he had to keep Ulaz guessing. If Ulaz knew he knew of his mission...well, he'd never escape then.

"I couldn't sleep," Keith said, relying on the truth as a crutch.

Ulaz snorted. "A little late night joy ride...do you constantly like being in Kulivan's bad graces?"

Keith smirked. "I've a knack for it. I might pass my stealth simulation soon, though."

"Oh?" Ulaz seemed curious. "That's a very confident boast."

"Not really," Keith said, and he leaped over Ulaz and drove his sword into the stealth ship's engine. If he guessed right, Ulaz stood by the ship he intended to fly. Spark flew as Keith disabled the ship.

"Are you mad?" Ulaz shouted, but Keith didn't hesitate. He raced for the cruiser and shut the door. When Ulaz rushed to enter, Keith kicked him out. The closest thing Keith had ever seen to panic flashed across Ulaz's face as the door of the cruiser slipped shut.

Gunning the engine, Keith pressed the signal for the hangar doors to open. Ulaz raced to another ship, but it was too late. Keith pressed the cruiser into action and sped out of the hangar.

On the WormHole's comm panel, two blinking comm lights came to life—one from another ship and another from headquarters. Keith ignored the one from headquarters, but he answered the other one.

"What are you doing!" Ulaz's voice burst over the screen. "Do you know—Mamora's blessed tits, you do know!"

"I've got to go—I can't explain, but I need to get into that prison," Keith said. "I don't expect you to forgive me, and I know it's not worth anything, but I am sorry."

Before Ulaz could reply, Keith clicked off the comm channel with a laborious sigh. After he cleared the gravitational pull of the black holes and blue star, he kicked the cruiser to its top speed and set the coordinates for Zarkon's prison. Then, Keith went into the back to put himself into sleep stasis for five sleep cycles. It would take time to reach the prison, and he was never good at sleeping in space...especially with a guilty conscious.

A shot of adrenaline bolted Keith awake in his stasis pod. His muscles twitched and jerked involuntarily. He hated waking from stasis, and even after he crawled out of the pod, he spasmed involuntarily for several hundred ticks until his body calmed itself.

When he reached the panel, Keith was pleased to see that he had only two vargas before he reached the prison ship. He settled himself into the pilot's seat and opened the mission file. It was as he expected—he would be coming in as a highly rated lieutenant who'd been promoted after he'd played a serviceable role in subjugating the four planets in the Crollian solar system.

Keith set to work remaking the IDs with his own appearance instead of Lieutenant Hurron's. Both Hurron and Keith had a slighter build for a Galra soldier, and the biggest difference was that Keith lacked the white markings and silvery-purple fur. Keith's coloring was dark for a Galra, and he had black fur on his head and ears, and a streak of it ran down his back, too. The markings on his arms, face, and legs were distinctive tiger-like stripes. His mom told him his father had those markings, and that he'd always looked more like him than her.

He got killed on one of these infiltration missions...he got discovered, Keith thought, frowning. He wasn't his father. For one, he was less well trained and directly betraying the Blades, and he wouldn't let himself fail. He'd come too far to not succeed.

That drive he experienced in his dream when he stared down at the dome filled him. Keith redoubled his efforts to memorize the file. When he reached the prison base, he had to be Lieutenant Hurron.

When a light flashed over the comm, Keith steadied himself and clicked it open. A Galra soldier glowed on the comm screen.

"You are approaching War Ship 623—give identification," the soldier said.

"Sending codes."

Keith kept his face neutral as he clicked the confiscated codes that he'd installed. The guard glanced down and nodded. "Set speed to low and proceed."

Taking the cruiser out of automatic flight, Keith obeyed and shifted the speed to a veritable crawl. The guard flashed off the comm screen, severing the connection, and Keith stared at the grey and violet veined bulk of the warship that loomed ahead. He had already changed into a standard cargo pilot flight suit, but the lack of Galra military attire gnawed at him.

This was the crux of his mission—he would fail or succeed based on a flimsy lie about losing his military attire.

Keith closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He couldn't let his nerves get the best of him...not when he was so close. No Galra officer—especially no Lieutenant—would be that careless. He'd have to do better…

The hanger doors opened and swallowed the WormHole like a Venus flytrap swallowing a fly. The screen flashed with the bay quadrant where he should land, and the cruiser put down there. The engine pinged and steamed as the cruiser shut off after its long flight. Keith pressed the button to open the door and rose from his chair to meet the five Galra soldiers that waited below the ramp.

Squaring his shoulders, Keith walked off the ship with a bored look on his face. Hurron would've been used to commanding cats and to having them obey his orders. Four soldiers appeared to be standard infantrymen, but the soldier at the front wore the insignia of another Lieutenant.

"Welcome. Where's your uniform, Lieutenant?" the soldier asked, looking Keith over. A glint of suspicions entered his gaze.

"I need a new one—they couldn't see fit to replace it before I reported for duty, but I was assured I could acquire one here," Keith said in an indifferent tone. Hurron ordered cats around all the time—it wasn't lying if he expected everything to go as he wished.

The Lieutenant locked onto his gaze, and Keith kept his expression bland and even added in a yawn for effect. That sold it, and the Lieutenant turned to one of his soldiers. "See that Lieutenant Hurron gets a suit befitting his rank."

"Yes, sir," the soldier said and hurried off about his errand. Keith suppressed a smile—now that was stealth.

"Can I see my quarters?" Keith asked. The other Lieutenant nodded and strode away from Keith's ship. Before he followed, Keith punched in the codes to lock down the WormHole. He didn't want any Galra infantry nosing around this cruiser. While his blade was hidden well on his person, there were too many incriminating bits in the ship that would betray he wasn't a Galra officer.

After securing the WormHole, Keith followed the soldiers and began his life as a mole in the Galra prison War Ship 623.


	7. Communication Failure

**7\. Communication Error**

The first forty sleep cycles at Central Command hadn't been kind to Lance. He was still largely ignored by his fellow Galra having taken his reputation from martial training with him, but at least he didn't see Haxus every day. Lance had been placed in Commander Thace's unit, who'd mercifully not even glanced at Lance during the first inspection. He didn't need two officers singling him out for hazing. Haxus was a Lieutenant, so he oversaw the infantry troops, so Lance gave himself reasons to never laze about the soldier barracks. His two jobs made that easy enough.

Like he suspected, Lance had been relegated to the ignoble task of the delivery boy for the Galra Empire. He shuttled fuel and supplies around the sprawling complex of Central Command. His co-pilots on those missions were similar in temperament to him—quietly bored and dejected by their less than a glorious role in the imperial army.

Lance monitored the communication room during the solar night. His second shift forced him to stay awake up to thirty vargas at a time and miss a full sleep cycle. He'd tried not to let the double shifts wear on him because that would mean Haxus had won. Tonight, Lance had been assigned to the thankless job, but the communication center at night was different than during the day. As the only one in the room, Lance browsed freely through the communication logs of the day.

On Valteria, the population of Galra was confined to a single area—they didn't mingle with the aliens. This had given Lance the notion that there were relatively few Galra in the universe, but working in the communication room disabused him of this. The Galra empire felt endless-there were tens of thousands of Vealtins in the galaxy with several thousand Galra overseeing the alien populations.

In the control room, Lance learned the names of several hundred planets with active alien problems—those were the names passed through the communication channels most often. The current communication records detailed the Olkari rebellion and the work being done to quell it. Several squadrons were leaving tomorrow. Clearly, the commander couldn't handle the planet, and it would need to undergo full occupation—which almost meant off-world enslavement for all rebellion leaders. Apparently, they'd discovered their king had dealt with the Galra, and several rabble rousers had killed the king and incited a full rebellion against Galra rule.

Lance flicked through the reports and resisted flinching at the orders. The Olkari were to be nearly exterminated; that was the Galra way if a people got too troublesome. Lance shut the file and stared at the blank screen. He wasn't important enough to be a member of the invasion force—thank god.

Unable to sit with his queasy emotions, Lance rose to relieve himself. The comm channels had been silent all night. No trouble in the galaxy at the moment. No one was around to begrudge a weary soldier a bathroom break or a nip of Moon Sugar from his flask.

With a soothing buzz, Lance strolled back into the comm center—and froze like an asteroid was about to hit him. Commander Thace leaned over the panel, studying the communications. Lance's heart lodged in his throat, but the Commander was engrossed in what he read and hadn't noticed the lowly infantryman.

Be sneaky...think quiet thoughts, Lance told himself. On tiptoes, he backed out of the doorway, hoping to pretend he'd never seen the Commander.

Thace's ears perked, and he whirled around and drew a knife. Lance froze, not cognizant enough to even fumble for his weapon.

"Quiznacks," he muttered.

The Commander blinked, and whatever flashed in his eyes—could it be panic?—dissolved and was replaced with a calculated stare. The Commander stowed his blade and surveyed Lance like the lowly worm he was.

"You abandoned your post," the Commander said cooly while he deftly closed down the screen he'd been examining. Discretely, Lance watched him slip a little, circular chip into his belt. Lance kept his gaze locked on the Commander—Haxus had taught him never to let his guard down around an officer that wanted to harass him.

"I had to relieve myself, sir," Lance said, his tone timid and lifeless.

"Bit of a long break, wasn't it?" the Command said, a note of tersid sarcasm in his tone.

Lance shrugged like a timid pup. "Really had to go…"

The Commander waved it off and strode forward until he stood eye-to-eye with Lance, who stood his ground. From here, the Commander's sensitive nose would certainly detect the reek of Moon Sugar. In a calculated tone, the Commander said, "Be a bit faster about your business from now on. Others wouldn't let you go with a warning."

"Point taken, sir," Lance said, saluting. As if he was a ghost, the Commander strode past Lance. When alone, Lance allowed himself a shuddering breath. He staggered forward on wobbly calf legs and collapsed in his chair.

Lance took another swig of Moon Sugar to steady his nerves. The Commander could've punished him for abandoning his post, and he should've. Except he didn't...and it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. To be a Galra commander meant to not have a heart. Lance frowned and rubbed tired eyes with the heels of his hands.

The Commander was reading something. Lance opened the records, but they'd been closed to the main screen. There was no way to tell what he'd been studying. Then, the Commander had slipped a disk into his belt—a recording chip?

That, he could check for. Fiddling around underneath the control panel, Lance's fingers brushed a twin of the recording disk—a tiny identifier to scramble where the files had been taken from—and who had taken them.

That was...interesting. Not at all suspicious.

With a little more exploration, Lance found a third device embedded in the consul. It was a small, cylindrical tube that was well concealed with similar looking tubes, except with one key difference—this one wasn't connected to any of the main outgoing channels. Squinting, Lance examined it, but he dared not remove it.

It was an outgoing comm channel...an illegal one. If Commander Thace had used it, he'd routed his communications outside of the main comm channels. No other Galra would see them, even though he'd jacked the Galra's comm network to use its signal. Because he'd used the Galra's network, his comm signal would go unnoticed—just another Galra signal coming from Central Command. No one who wasn't looking for it would know it wasn't being filtered through the main system.

Lance leaned back in his chair, trying desperately to think through the fog of both the Moon Sugar and his own exhaustion. He was on the last vargas of his shift—awak for twenty-nine vargas. He needed sleep like a parched man needed water.

Focus, Lance, this is important, he told himself. He dared not close his eyes in case he nodded off now. The Moon Sugar made him sluggish, inviting him to give up his duties.

Can't do that—you found something decidedly illegal, he thought, rubbing his temples.

Commander Thace had been looking through comms in the middle of the night, but he had the authority to just come in here in the day and view those...unless he was looking at things it was better other officers didn't know he knew. He'd downloaded information, too, and even though Lance hadn't seen him use it, he felt certain that illegal signal tube must belong to the Commander, too.

Stealing information...that was the type of thing a spy would do. Lance's eyes widened. Commander Thace was a spy. He hadn't much proof, but it checked out in his gut. He'd let Lance go, probably figuring the fresh infantryman who'd abandoned his post wouldn't have the nerve to speak of this incident to anyone again.

He's right about that, Lance thought, letting his forehead rest on the console. To bring up what he'd seen the Commander doing would be to admit he'd left his post. They wouldn't punish Thace—they'd punish him. Maybe even accuse him of being the spy.

He glanced at the illegal tube and chewed on his lip. He could tweak it...put it on a private line that only he had the code to. That way, if—when—the Commander sent a signal, he'd be able to go back and read that comm.


	8. Part 2: Unwanted -- Unwanted Knowledge

**Part 2: Unwanted**

 **1\. Unwanted Knowledge**

"Cadet, I expected this fuel shipment a whole vargas ago," the Commander said. The side of his mouth twitched into a scowl. Lance saluted but was unable to swallow a yawn. The Commander's face broke into a full snarl.

"We don't take naps in the imperial army, pup," the Commander said.

"Sorry, sir—I've been on double shifts," Lance apologized and performed a second salute.

The Commander crossed his arms and glared down his nose at Lance. "Excuses aren't the Galra way. Unload this fuel and feel fortunate that I'm going to give you reprimand...twenty extra vargas of work should cover this lapse in duty."

Lance stifled a groan, and he hustled to shift the fuel onto the hovercraft, which took it into storage. The work in the comm room had caught up to him, but there was no one Lance could go to who might be sympathetic to his plight. Haxus would never change his assignment—he'd enjoy Lance's reprimand, too. He's probably surprised you haven't royally screwed up yet, Lance thought. A prickly pride filled him. Even after all of Haxus's abuses, this had been his first demerit.

Well, Commander Thace should've written him up…

If Lance hadn't caught the Commander spying, he would've gone to Commander Thace and tried to bargain for a transfer of duty. The Commander could overrule Haxus, but the Commander had no reason to help him, especially after their awkward run in. Lance was all too happy not to remind him of it, too. Now that Lance suspected the Commander of spying, he couldn't approach him. The Commander had overlooked Lance's lapse in duty only because it was advantageous to both of their interests, but if he suspected Lance had uncovered his secret...

You'll end up with worse than a reprimand, that's for sure, Lance thought, his shoulders drooping.

Of course, he'd yet to actually find any evidence that the Commander was spying—just a solid hunch. No message had been sent over the illegal signal tube since Lance discovered it, so he still had no evidence that Commander Thace was a spy.

Lance hopped back into his ship. Lance's insides grumbled from hunger. He'd have a whole half-vargas to visit the mess hall before he started his shift in the comm room. At some point, he'd have to meet to address his reprimand assignment, and Lance's insides knotted. He didn't know who would deal with his reprimand, but he had a hunch Haxus would only be too gleeful to dole out Lance's punishment.

The mess hall was mostly empty because Lance's shift had ended late. He took a full ratio tray and sat by himself in the corner. Working double shifts and eating at odd hours hadn't given him many opportunities to make friends, but after martial training, he'd accepted his isolated lot in life.

When someone sat down across from Lance, he jerked his head up in surprise.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Hunk said, biting off the chunk of a heated wrap.

"I'm staying busy serving the empire," Lance said. He hurriedly slurped down some broth and noodles.

"No, ugh, time to catch up?" Hunk asked. "I had a long shift today—someone mislabeled engine parts and ordered the wrong fuel—and stupid Sendak wouldn't take the stick out of his ass until we'd fixed his ship. I was so hungry...I swear I was starting to eat myself."

"Huh," Lance mumbled between food bites. A part of him felt smug. At least Hunk was having a miserable time now, too.

Hunk frowned and put down his half-eaten wrap. It's meaty insides spilled out onto the tray. "Lance, are you still mad? I hadn't seen you around, but I remembered you had a night shift…"

Refusing to meet Hunk's gaze, Lance muttered, "I told you, I'm serving the empire—thirty vargas in a row every three sleep cycles."

"That sucks. You could ask your Commander to get reassigned...it doesn't have to be like martial training. Haxus shouldn't control your life forever."

"It's my duty to serve the empire," Lance said tonelessly, "and how much of an idiot do you think I am? I've thought of reassignment, but it won't happen...some of us just aren't that lucky."

"It won't hurt to ask," Hunk said.

Lance snorted. His comm device beeped. He stifled a groan. He had to leave for his second shift now. Picking up his tray, he shot Hunk a weary look. "Take my word for it—it could definitely hurt to ask. Officers don't really like me."

Leaving before Hunk could respond, Lance put his tray onto the cleaning conveyor belt and strode down the hallway towards the comm room. He rummaged in his belt for a quick, pick-me-up pill he'd managed to obtain from the commissary. He'd paid most of his meager commision for that bottle, but it kept him from nodding off on his assignments, which was well worth the price.

He logged into the communication room on time. He wouldn't get reprimanded twice in one sleep cycle for being late. The other soldiers assigned to the busier communication hours signed out and Lance fielded several minor communications about supply logistics for the first several vargas of his shift. Afterward, he found himself alone in the communication room again.

Glancing around, Lance opened his secret comm file. He'd gotten in the habit of checking it the first chance he got every shift, even if there was never anything in there.

Today, there was. A solitary comm file had been logged.

Lance shot several furtive glances around the room, ensuring he was alone. His hands trembled slightly, and Lance pinched himself and mentally shook himself. Of course, he was alone. He wouldn't have dared check the file otherwise. The program had done what he'd designed it to do—it had logged the illegal communication.

Steadying himself, Lance clicked open the file.

It was brief and didn't list a recipient, so he didn't know whom Commander Thace had sent this to.

 _Zarkon looking for an important weapon. Sending commanders out in four sleep cycles. Small teams. Will get small group. Not all my choosing. Secrecy important. Will attempt to retrieve. Another commander on mission could impede acquisition. WIll destroy weapon if cannot obtain._

After that brief exchange, the Commander listed a set of coordinates. Those meant nothing to Lance, but when he entered them into the navigation database, it took him to a planet called Ariel. It had been a life-supporting world, although it had no major industrial uses to the Galra. It sat at the edge of their empire and boasted no strategic value or mineral resources. Over ten thousand years ago, volcanic explosions had threatened life on Ariel, so the people had fled the planet, and it had never been resettled. It's current drastic solar day and night temperature swings made it 'questionable' for life.

Lance wondered why they never came back. He'd have wanted to go home and at least attempt resettlement. Maybe the destruction had been that absolute...of a scale he found unimaginable.

Pulling out a recording chip, Lance downloaded his comm file and erased it. He didn't want anybody else reading this. He also downloaded the information on Ariel. Then, he fielded a series of late communications dealing with preparing Commander Sendak's ship for launch.

With his official work done, Lance searched the communication files for anything about weapons. Being that this was the Galra military, there were endless files dealing with Galra weapons. None of them seemed right, though. Commander Thace's message said the Galra were looking for a weapon, so it wouldn't be something they already had. The Commander hadn't described it, either, so Lance couldn't narrow his search by size or function.

Near the end of his shift, he dropped his forehead into his hands. He had proof that Commander Thace was spying, but he was no closer to knowing who he sent his messages to. He'd been clear on one point—he was going to sabotage the empire's attempts to attain a mysterious weapon...a weapon Lance was no closer to identifying.

Yawning, Lance stood up and paced around the communication room to stay awake. He had to think, which proved difficult in his current mental state of hazy, tipsy sleeplessness. This information was a tool. How to use it...that was the real question.

This could get you out of this shit situation at Central, Lance reasoned to himself. If he could leverage this information correctly, he might be able to get out of double-shifts. Did that mean blackmailing his Commander? Did that mean turning the information over to Haxus?

Lance shuddered with revulsion. No, he wouldn't go to Haxus with this. That bastard wouldn't help him—he'd probably accuse Lance of working with Thace.

He could go to Haxus's superior, Commander Sendak, but Lance had heard he had the same joyously psychopathic personality as Haxus. He'd have to be psychotic to promote a piece of work like Haxus.

If he went to a general, it would be his word against his Commanders. That might not turn out well—he could still be accused of working with Thace—but it might get him rewarded and removed beyond Haxus's vindictive reach.

Yawning, Lance logged out. It was the end of his shift, and he desperately needed to sleep. With some rest, maybe the answer would be clear. At least he had options now, even if he still knew next to nothing about the contents of the message.

Lance collapsed onto the stiff cot that passed for his bed. He only had six vargas to sleep, but his comm device sounded mid planetary morning when he'd only gotten three vargas of rest.

"Cadet Lance...ugh, Lorran...reporting," he mumbled.

"Cadet, report to my office for your disciplinary assignment immediately," Haxus said in his silken voice. Lance's stomach curled. The Lieutenant sounded positively gleeful. Lance grunted out his response and closed the comm device.

You knew it was coming, he told himself while he sluggishly got dressed. He popped another pill, regretting that he'd had to use two in such a short time span, but he couldn't afford to confront Haxus unaware. As it was, he hadn't slept nearly enough and went in with a weary, addled brain from his manic researching in the communication room the night before.

The two guards outside of Haxus's office shot each other knowing looks and smirks. He thought at least one of them had been in his martial training group.

"Cadet Lorran reporting for disciplinary measures," Lance said, standing at attention. Even in front of these nobody guards, he presented sharp manners. He couldn't give Haxus any more reason to punish him.

"Can't believe this is only your friend reprimand," the one guard said with a smirk. "I thought you'd be demoted to one of the outer stations by now."

If only getting out of Central were that easy, Lance thought.

"I've been busy serving the empire," Lance said crisply.

"I bet you have," a silken voice said from behind Lance. He whirled around and saluted in time with Haxus's own guards. Leave it to Haxus to sneak up on him!

"At ease," Haxus told his own guards. With a wolfish grin, Haxus turned to Lance. "Let's discuss your failings in my office, shall we?"

Haxus pressed his palm onto a wall panel, and a door slid soundlessly open to reveal a sparse yet impeccably clean room beyond. An entire wall was dedicated to weapons, and Lance couldn't keep himself from eyeing them. They drew him towards them like magnets, but none of them seemed rare—nothing special enough for Zarkon himself to bother looking for.

"Admiring my collection?" Haxus said, crossing his arms and smirking at Lance. "You didn't strike me as a conqueror of the martial arts."

"I've done some reading," Lance said, turning his attention back to Haxus. The Lieutenant regarded him with a calculating stare.

"I see life at Central Command has been beneficial to you," Haxus said. Lance's back stiffened, and he tried to spot the trap. Haxus was being positively friendly towards him. Maybe Lance had been too tired—and too distracted—to show him proper fear. After such a long string of abuses, maybe he'd forgotten how to be afraid.

"Yes, sir," Lance said.

Haxus snorted and smirked. "Our military can turn even the weakest pup into a warrior—even someone as seemingly useless as you. Fortunately for you, I have a personal task that needs more attention. Command Sendak needs a ship prepared for a long mission. You'll serve your reprimand provisioning and readying his ship—all of it with minimal breaks. This mission is of utmost importance."

"Yes, sir," Lance said. His stomach hollowed out, and only his weariness kept his shock from showing. Lieutenant Haxus and Commander Sendak must be going to look for the weapon, too.

"Dismissed," Haxus said with an imperative wave of his hand. For good measure, Lance saluted again, spun on his heel, and retreated. He was too exhausted to break into a run, and it would've looked suspicious. Lance walked briskly to put distance between himself and Haxus's office.

If he told Haxus and Sendak about the spy communication, they'd have a personal interest in rewarding him. They might let him off Central...they might remove him from his double shifts. And slobbering drill worms might fly.

Scoffing, Lance shook his head, forcing himself to focus. They didn't like him—they owed him nothing. Lance thought of Haxus's weapon-filled trophy wall. No, not trophies—he bet all of those weapons were functional. No, at best, they'd give him a pat on the head for being a good, little Galra cadet, and at the worst, they'd accuse him of being a spy, too.

If he was unwilling to turn the information into Haxus or Sendak, Lance had no choice—he'd have to confront Commander Thace and blackmail him.


	9. Blackmail and Bribery

**2\. Blackmail and Bribery**

Sixty vargas was how long it took Lance to prepare Commander Sendak's ship. The first twenty vargas he could handle, but the remaining forty were a blur. He took his pills and did his best to keep moving. Other cadets worked the same grueling schedule he did, and it didn't take Lance long to realize they'd all been assigned to this thankless job as punishment. They loaned excavation equipment onto the ship, cleaned the engine, and transferred supplies and weapons onto the ship. For the number of soldiers that would be going, the ship was enormous—it could've fit ten times the cats. Some sleep-deprived math told Lance that most of the ship had been converted to open storage space.

That meant that Sendak was hoping to bring something back—something big.

After his dismissal, Lance trudged back to his barracks to sleep. His reprimand duty had simplified his thoughts, but he needed the energy and the nerve to act on them.

Six vargas of sleep literally felt like blinking; Lance laid down and his comm buzzed on his forearm. He could've sleep three times as long, and it still wouldn't have been enough. If he didn't get up, he wouldn't have any time to act. Even now, he wasn't sure his plan could work, but he had no more time. Commander Sendak's ship would leave Central Command in the next ten vargas, and he had to be on it.

Going on this mission might put him at Sendak and Haxus's mercy, but he wanted to know what this weapon was, and for petty reasons, he didn't want Sendak or Haxus to find it. If Commander Thace aimed to sabotage their mission, so much the better. He was the perfect cadet to help screw those two cats over. He also wanted out of Central Command with a dull, yet determined passion that had grown with him like a tumor during his reprimand assignment. He couldn't keep running himself ragged here at the mercy of officers that viewed him as a defective cog in the Galra war machine.

What he'd say to actually convince Commander Thace to put him on this apparently top-secret assignment—a mission he had no right to know about—was another matter. He hadn't thought that part through. He was good at improvisation...sort of...maybe...well, his natural charisma would have to suffice.

Lance was out of time.

Lance strode to Commander Thace's office, but he wasn't there. One of his guards said, "He's gone to the communication room."

Lance's ears twitched. If Thace was sending another message, he wanted to see if he could retrieve it. During the planetary day, the communication room would be full, so he didn't know if he could open his folder. He wasn't one of the day shift officers, so that would draw undue attention to himself.

Still unable to figure out how to open his secret comm log, Lance arrived at the communication room. He peered inside, frowning when he didn't spy Commander Thace.

"Excuse me, but can I have a look at the communication files from several nights ago? I forgot to log something," Lance asked one of the soldiers on duty. He hoped the other Galra soldier couldn't hear his heart hammering.

"I can do it," the soldier said, taping on his screen.

"No, I insist—it was my lapse in duty," Lance said.

The soldier rolled his yellow-eyes. "If you must—make it quick."

Lance pulled up the real transcripts about Sendak's ship. He had logged them, but he did so again to make a show of correcting his error. After the other soldier got bored and looked away, Lance opened his secret folder. His stomach dropped—there was no new log. Commander Thace hadn't come here and sent a new message. Suppressing a sigh, Lance closed the folder. He'd been hoping for some extra intel before he confronted the Commander.

"All done...thanks," Lance said, saluting the other solder for good measure. The Galra shooed him away from his workstation, and Lance slipped out of the communication room with a new heaviness in his gut. He'd failed to get any new information on Thace, and he had precious little time left to find the Commander before Sendak's ship departed Central Command.

As he turned the corner, one problem solved itself. Command Thace strode down the hallway, and Lance's stomach did summersaults. Lance wiped sweaty palms on his thighs, but when he approached the Commander, he almost breezed past Lance.

"Sir!" Lance called out, stepping in his way. Commander Thace was so distracted that they collided with each other. Thace jerked back, seeing Lance for the first time.

"Cadet, I'm quite busy today—"

"I know, but this won't take much time, and it's about Sendak's weapon finding mission," Lance said. Thace's gaze narrowed, and he turned his hawklike intentions on Lance. Lance resisted squirming beneath that judgemental gaze and stood his ground. He'd had plenty of practice facing down officers by now.

In a low voice, Thace said, "And you know about this mission how? You're not ranked."

"I work in the communications room and spend time preparing Sendak's ship," Lance said hurriedly.

"Those communications have been private, and I am certain the nature of the mission has been kept secret from anyone without a rank," Thace said, his tone laced with threats of more than just a reprimand. Lance swallowed a lump in his throat. He had to act now, even if as his nerve and wits faltered.

"I saw your communication," Lance said. "I need to be on that mission."

Thace arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because...because I know what it's about," Lance said.

"I doubt that," Thace said, snorting.

"I want—I need—off central," Lance said, laying all of his cards out. Gaze still narrow, the Commander studied Lance, who clenched his fists to keep his trembling under control.

A faint light of recognition registered in Thace's gaze. "You're that communications cadet that—"

Thace's mouth pinched shut, and a flash of anger in his eyes made Lance take a step back despite himself. "I should've written you up—deported you," Thace said, his voice barely above a low growl.

Lance swallowed the glue-like spit in his mouth. "I just want on the mission and off Central. I haven't mentioned that...that message...to anyone else. If I get to go, I won't have a reason to."

For several minutes, Lance's heartbeat filled his thoughts. This was his play—his only chance. Thace did little to veil his anger, but he hadn't reached for his weapon. His gaze gradually cooled back to a nearly emotionless mask, but Lance's fur still tingled with whole-body nerves.

"I'll add you to the roster—as a personal guard," Thace said, "but know this—whatever game you're playing—whatever little scheme you've concocted—if you cross me—if you are anything but absolutely loyal to me—I will kill you."

Lance ripped off an automatic salute. "Yes, sir."

"I assume you know the leaving time—be early," Thace said, pushing his way past Lance. After he'd turned the corner, Lance let out a tiny, nervous laugh. His plan had worked—it had worked! He was leaving Central. He had a chance to see this weapon for himself. He had a chance to royally screw Haxus over—to get payback for his torment.

Sure, it came with a death threat from his Commander, but that was something he'd have to live with—or not if he broke his promise to Thace.

Blood pounded in Thace's ears. He should've pulled out his sword and ended that pup, but years of training made him reevaluate the situation. The cadet had discovered some portion of his secret, but Thace didn't know if the cadet was working alone or not. Also, someone that had the skills to discover his infiltration could prove useful—even one so seemingly witness as this Galra soldier.

Thace could get him onto that mission, but if the cadet moved against him, he'd make good on his promise to end him. This mission was too important—the empire couldn't get its hands on Voltron.

Of course, no one had confirmed that they'd been sent to search for the Voltron lions, but Sendak was lousy at keeping secrets and had hinted about 'Altean tech' several times. Thace couldn't think of another weapon that the empire would put such a high priority on finding. It had to be Voltron.

He scowled, forcing himself to stride past the communication room. That planetary day—less than a sleep cycle before he would depart on his mission—he'd received a new and incredibly valuable piece of information. He'd wanted to send it to the Blades, but now, he didn't dare risk a transmission.

He thought that there was only one planet that they had coordinates to search, but earlier, a list of nearly a hundred coordinates had come down from the top generals. Out of all the billions of places in the galaxy Voltron could be located, the Galra had limited their search to under a hundred. Thace's face twisted into a brief scowl. Curse him for being so careless—he needed to get those coordinates to the Blades. There was a chance they could beat the Galra to some of those places.

Instead of sending the coordinates, Thace went to train. He was about to be trapped on a ship with Sendak and his equally irritating underling boot-lickers. Thace needed to decapitate some droids for his sanity before embarking in several vargas.

After decimating the stock of training droids, Thace went back to his chambers to ready himself for launch. He copied the coordinates and stored them with his blade—two things that must come on this mission. Any other weapons or supplies he'd already requisitioned and his own underlings had loaded them onto the ship during its frantic preparation.

When he reached the hangar, the selected contingent of guards were boarding the ship. At the gangway, a knot of Galra stood around two soldiers, and Thace's insides chilled with recognition. It was Lieutenant Haxus, who looked ready to disembowel Thace's newest problem cadet.

"What is the problem, Lieutenant?" Thace said, stepping into the circle and addressing Haxus. He avoided looking at the troublesome cadet. If he didn't defer to the superior officer first, he would be in breach of Galra etiquette.

Haxus cocked his head and surveyed Thace with barely checked fury. Licking his lips, Haxus asked, "You added this...this pup to the mission? I was in charge of picking trusted and talented soldiers for this very important mission."

"Don't lecture me on how important this is," Thace snapped. For a moment, he felt a fleeting excitement not to have to act or lie.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean—"

"To question a superior officer?" Thace said, giving Haxus a cool look. Now, he risked a glance at the cadet, whose gaze hadn't left Haxus. At least he was smart enough to not take his eyes off the real enemy.

"This cadet has some communication skills I want to utilize," Thace said. "He'll work in the comm room."

"I see, sir," Haxus said, giving the cadet a quick sideways glare that Thace didn't miss.

Leaving the circle, Thace waved for the cadet to follow him. Once they were aboard the ship and away from Haxus, Thace turned to face the cadet. With a weary sigh, he said, "It seems you're very good at making enemies and being where you're not wanted."

"I can't help if he hates me, but I won't let him stop me from going."

The cadet fixed Thace with a defiant gaze—one entirely too bold for someone of his rank to give to a superior officer. No wonder a power-craven weakling like Haxus had disliked him. Maybe he'd made a decent choice for a personal assistant on this mission after all.

"Your name, cadet?" Thace asked.

"Lance...ugh, Lorran Clathan, sir," he stammered.

Thace snorted. "Whatever nickname pleases you, I suppose. You're going to do exactly what I said—work in the communication room."

Lance gave Thace a guarded glance. "And send...messages?"

"One in particular," Thace muttered, "but let's start with the basics—don't cause trouble with Sendak's people."

"I can try, sir."

In a menacing voice, already grating with irritation, Thace said, "There is no try—you _will_ not cause trouble with Sendak's men. That will...you just won't."

Lance saluted, and Thace turned his back on him. The cadet trailed behind him, and after a moment, Thace sighed and stopped walking. "You're dismissed, cadet. Go to the barracks."

"Sir, can I ask...what are we looking for? It has to be large—"

Thace rounded on Lance. "The second thing you're going to do is learn what sensitive information means," Thace snapped. No, this cadet couldn't be a real spy. The Blades would never send someone so sloppy on an infiltration mission. Thace suspected that the pup had bumbled into this, but he couldn't be certain there wasn't another operating party he didn't have intelligence on.

"Yes, sir," Lance whispered, but he chewed on his lip. "I still want to know…"

"When we find it, you'll see," Thace said cooly and turned away. Even thinking of Voltron made Thace's pulse jump a little. Voltron was the greatest weapon in the galaxy—the one that could destroy Zarkon—and it was his job to find it. But if he couldn't retrieve it, he had to destroy it.


	10. Experimentation

**3\. Experimentation**

Two nightmare bird-masked faces stared down at Pidge. They strapped her to a table and drugged her, and the world swam in a wash of purple, black, and yellow-slit eyes. She slipped in and out of consciousness, aware that they probed her, but she was unable to resist.

One of the creatures put its hand out, and a dark energy gathered there. Finding herself again, Pidge tried feebly to squirm away. The thing aimed its blast at her chest, and Pidge convulsed when it hit.

The next thing she saw was the blank darkness of her cell wall. She hated this place, but a rush of relief not to be on that cold operating table strapped down and unable to move filled her. Pidge curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her skin tingled, and her stomach felt sour. What...what had that thing done to her? After they drugged her, she could remember warped pieces of being in...where? A medical bay?

No, it was a science lab. Bitter bile coated the inside of Pidge's mouth. They hadn't given her a checkup—they'd experimented on her.

To think she'd used to like labs...she'd always felt safe in her dad's lab. Of course, she hadn't been the experiment before.

"Pidge...Pidge…"

How long Shiro said her name, she didn't know, but his whisper finally cut through her drowsy mind. Pidge sat up, sweat beading on her forehead. She felt weak like when she had the flu, but that didn't stop her from crawling to the air vent. The light breeze cooled her, and Pidge let out a relieved sigh. The air buffeted her bangs, and she slouched against the wall. The less she had to do in this condition the better.

"I didn't know if they brought you back," Pidge whispered, her mouth gummy and dry. A water and a food dish sat in the corner of the room. They fed her like they would a cat—with two automatic refilling bowls. The timed food system meant she didn't have to see any of her Galra guards, which was a relief. The trade-off was that she felt like an animal in a cage, but she had no hope of clawing her way out.

"At least a day ago," Shiro said, keeping his voice low. He sounded weary with exhaustion, too. "I can't keep track of time properly, though, but it's my best guess."

Voice shaking, Pidge said, "Shiro, they...they did something to me. They took me to a lab...I don't feel good. I feel sick."

Several heartbeats of silence passed before Shiro spoke. "They did the same thing to me. I heard your door open a while ago, but listen to me...have you noticed...any physical changes?"

Pidge blinked, and her heart continued to slam into her chest like a hammer. In the near dark, she ran a hand over her body. "No, I don't think so, but I feel really hot...and my stomach hurts...I feel feverish."

Shiro let out a resigned sigh. "That's how it started for me, but I woke with...with hair on my hands."

Frantically, Pidge rubbed her arms, but her skin was clammy but smooth. "No extra hair—but is that bad? That sounds...fairly tame as far as evil alien probings go."

"I'm not a very hairy guy," Shiro said, a teasing tone in his tired voice. "This is...it's different. I think I'm growing more, too, but I can't be sure. I feel flushed and hot, too. Like you said...sick."

Pidge's stomach somersaulted, and if she hadn't already been laying on the ground, she would've toppled over. She moaned, clutching at her guts. Her eyes widened, and tentatively, she put a hand underneath her shirt to feel her stomach. Sure enough, a thin, fuzzy layer of hair covered her stomach. If she could've thrown up, Pidge would've. Thank god she hadn't eaten any of the food pellets since coming back.

"Shiro...it's my stomach," she whispered, unable to keep the panic from her voice. "The hair...it's on my stomach!"

"Shhh, stay calm and quiet," Shiro said, coaxing her away from the looming ledge of panic. "I wonder what they gave us? I remember...not much, really...but maybe a hormone? Steroids? That could explain hair growth."

"Oh my god, what would an alien steroid do?" Pidge squeaked.

"Shhh," Shiro said. "It'll probably do what steroids on Earth do...just more unpleasant."

An image of the creature raising its hand and the terrible, black light aimed at her chest filled. Pidge asked, "Do you remember those creatures—the ones with the yellow-slit eyes? One of them blasted me with...with some dark energy. It was...it was like magic. That feels so silly to say—"

"But we're in a space prison, and it happened to me, too," Shiro said. Relief coursed through Pidge. She pressed her head to the wall, trying to use the metal to cool herself. Yes, she'd definitely started to run a low-grade fever, but she wasn't crazy. The bird-thing had used some type of energy beam on her. It couldn't really be magic, could it? She closed her mind off to it. They were in an alien prison surrounded by alien tech out of her deepest fantasies, but these aliens using magic…

Why would they need it with all their technology? Pidge wondered. Yet, she couldn't explain what else that alien could've done to her. It hadn't had anything else in its hand when it blasted her. The dark light had puddled in its hand like a slick, oozing cloud. A shudder traveled through Pidge's body.

"Do you think the...the magic...activated something?" Pidge asked. If she had to use the word 'magic', she would. Her theories on what it was could wait until she escaped this place.

"It seems like it," Shiro said. "Just lay down and stay calm. We know the food and water aren't poisoned."

The thought of water reminded Pidge how sandpaper dry her mouth had become. She summoned her strength and went over to the bowl. Pushing away the thought that she was drinking like an animal, Pidge dipped her head down and slurped up water into her parched mouth. She splashed her face, which temporarily cooled her.

"What...what are we going to do?" Pidge asked after she'd nibbled on some food. She couldn't eat too much. With her insides rollicking, she might throw it back up almost instantly, but if she didn't eat, she'd continue to be weak and shaky.

"Sit tight," Shiro whispered. "This cell doesn't leave many other options. If we get an opportunity to escape, we need to be prepared to take it. That means we need to conserve our strength."

"When might that happen?" Pidge asked, remembering the way the four-eyed creature had easily stunned her when she'd tried to flee the guards.

Shiro sighed wearily. "I don't know."

Laying in his bunk with his eyes closed, Shiro forced himself to recall his training—specifically the brief yet traumatic period where he'd learned how to deal with imprisonment and interrogation. There were several tactics his captors could employ, and leaving them to sit and go stir crazy in their cells was one he'd been taught. They'd locked him in a prison for three days during training. Of course, he'd already been in here much longer, and the deprivation environment was meant to crack his mind. He'd done his best to meditate and remain sane, and he had the added benefit that the aliens didn't know he could communicate with Pidge.

He'd hummed softly to himself, and on occasion, he'd talk to Pidge. If they spoke too much, the guards might hear. When the girl moaned, he'd risked words of encouragement. Whatever the aliens had done, it made both of them ill, but he suspected she was in more pain than he was. Maybe he handled it better. He had military training, and even though Pidge was tough, she hadn't endured the forced brutality he had. They'd tried to prepare him for prisoner of war situations.

Too bad they hadn't anticipated he'd have to survive space prison, he thought, snorting mirthlessly.

He ached down to his bones, which didn't feel like a coincidence. Even in this disorienting place, he could definitely tell his frame had grown. His uniform fit tightly around his neck, chest, and biceps. He'd started to notice a tightness in his thighs and butt, too, yet he refused to undress for comfort. Whatever they did to him, he'd still be a pilot—he'd still be a man.

They were doing their best to turn him into some type of animal, though. The steroid theory didn't feel far off, although Shiro didn't know what to make of the concept of magic any more than Pidge had. Still, he couldn't deny the changes that twisted his body from human into...something else. The hair growth he'd noticed had accelerated, and a thickened layer of dark hair covered his entire body. His skin itched against his tightening clothing. Her voice shaking, Pidge reported she had gotten hairier, too. Shiro hadn't the heart to tell his nervous friend that he suspected they were growing a pelt of fur. How far the changes would go...what they would eventually become…

They can't take away what's in your head and your heart, he told himself.

The words felt hollow as he shuddered under the dull yet persistent aching that felt like a toothache over his entire body. At least no one had to see him weak like this.

When Pidge moaned upstairs, Shiro's insides tensed. It should've been Matt up there, not her. Neither of them deserved to suffer, but Matt Holt had been trained like he had. At least Matt would've been prepared for this torture, yet part of him felt selfishly glad that Matt wasn't here. He cared for Matt, and for Shiro, it would've been harder to hear strong Matt cry out. At least with Pidge, he could act the role of the big brother protector and calm her down. If it were Matt...he would've struggled to keep a clear head.

Matt's safe and back on Earth, Shiro reassured himself as he yanked at the seams of his uniform to try and aid in its fit. Several ripped open, and Shiro let out a long sigh. Whatever the aliens had done to him, his body was losing the battle to fight it.

Footfalls outside the door made Shiro sit up.

The door slid open, and Shiro squinted into the violet hallway light, which was blinding compared to the dimness of his cell. Four guards stood there, but none of them were the terrifying multi-eyed creatures. Thank god they were all normal Galra. He might have a chance at fighting those ones off.

"This one lived," one guard with several prominent spikes on his chin said with a lopsided grin. "I guess I'll make my money back after all."

One of the other guards scowled. "They looked weak," he muttered. "Can't blame me for betting against them."

Shiro's face contorted in loathing. They'd bet on their survival—and the odds hadn't been good.

"We're to take this one down to the arena now?" another guard said, his voice neutral. They all wore masks, so it was impossible for Shiro to completely read his Galra's captors expressions, but he got the impression this one took less pleasure in his near death. A small comfort, Shiro thought wryly.

The spike-chinned guard motioned Shiro forward. "If this thing lived, it gets to fight."

Shiro snarled, the animal sound surprising him. Two of the guards laughed, and Shiro launched out of bed. He grabbed the spike-chinned guard's weapon and slashed at him. The neutral guard gripped Shiro's wrist, turning his strike and keeping him from killing the other guard. Another guttural snarl came from Shiro's mouth, and fear tightened his guts. He knew they had changed him, but he'd hadn't noticed the lack of little human details until he'd fought the guards. He moved different—more fluid and quick in his motions, even though he ached to his core. And that growl...a human throat couldn't make that sound.

The neutral guard stripped his stolen sword away. Shiro glared at him as the other three cowards rushed in to help their braver companion. With a defiant glare, Shiro said, "I've got all the time I need—I'll get out of this place. You can't hold me forever."

The spike-chinned guard grunted and picked up his weapon. He kneed Shiro in the gut, causing him to double over. "That's where you're wrong," the guard hissed into Shiro's ear. "You're one of our hybrids now—you'll stay here until you die—and you're too weak to survive long. Come on, boys, it's time to take this one into the arena."

The guards shoved him along and roughly shepherded Shiro into a small room. They boxed him in, but red light streamed through the other side of the door. A buzz of voices reached Shiro's ears, and his entire body tensed. A crowd waited for him, and Shiro wanted to shrink into the wall. They'd made him a monster for their entertainment. His training hadn't prepared him for this. His gaze darted around, searching for escape, but the guards held him fast.

The door clicked upwards, and the guards marched him into a rectangular box. The yellow-eyed gazes of thousands of aliens focused on him. Some cheered, some clapped with mild interest, and others ignored him entirely. The sounds in that cone room swirled around and focused on him like a tornado of apathetic bloodlust.

His guards released him, and he sprawled forward on his knees. They stood watch at the door he'd entered through, and Shiro turned, attempting to leave that way. One of the guards pulled a gun on him. The crowd erupted in hollers and cheers—they'd loved that move.

Shiro raised his hands and backed away from the guard. He wouldn't be getting out that way.

Another door clicked upwards, and Shiro turned to face another set of guards. There were eight of them, and they escorted in a creature with saliva dripping from its jaws. It had thick, matted blue fur and the tattered remnants of cloths hung from its waist. An existential shiver passed through Shiro. Had that thing been human, too? Would he end up like that beast if he stayed here?

He pushed down his nauseating thoughts that rolled his stomach and faced the creature. There was no intelligence in its eyes, only hunger. One of the eight guards tossed a small, blunt sword through the air. It landed at Shiro's feet, and he picked it up. The crowd applauded again, and Shiro gritted his teeth together, wishing they'd shut up.

The guards backed away from the beast before unchaining it. The creature turned to bite a guard, but another guard shocked it. This drove it away. Whimpering, the creature backed away—and then turned its blood-shot eyes on Shiro.

Any hope of finding common ground with the beast died when Shiro met its rabid gaze. It didn't see him as a fellow prisoner—only as prey.

He dodged the creature's first and second charges. The third time, it changed its tactics and swiped his legs from underneath him with its tail. With a thud, Shiro landed on his back. The whooping of the crowd spurred him to roll away and dodge the claw swipe.

He wouldn't die here—not for the entertainment of these monsters.

Shiro swung the blade and stabbed it into the creature's paw. The beast yowled and leaped away, giving Shiro a chance to get to his feet.

The creature settled onto its haunches and stalked him around the arena, but it kept its distance now. It knew he could—and would—strike it. To win, he had to close distance and initiate the attack.

Shiro rushed forward, and when the creature pounced, he dropped to the ground. He used its momentum to impale its stomach on his sword before its full weight crushed him. The beast flailed and howled in misery while the crowd roared. Shiro tuned out all those sounds and the thick blood that covered him and focused on gutting this creature and saving his own life. When the beast stopped moving, Shiro let himself go limp under its weight.

The guards came back and drug the corpse off him, but he lay there, unable to move from exhaustion and shock. He was presented to the crowd, but he fixed his gaze on his feet. He didn't want to entertain these murders, but he spared a gaze for the poor beast he'd been forced to kill. Even if it hadn't been sane at the end, it had been a prisoner like him, but he knew only one of them would make it out of this place alive, and it had to be him.

While he settled into his role as a Galra guard, Keith continued his research on hairless humanoids. Ulla's files hadn't yielded much—he didn't know enough about what he was looking for to use the technical xenology terms. When Keith made the decision to give up his personal research and start gathering information on prisoners, an unexpected find came from it.

In the prisoner logs, he found the files of two hairless humanoids from Terra X26. The files included the intake images, which featured both humanoids bound and bent over. While he didn't know them personally, their descriptions and the insignia on their uniforms looked eerily familiar. Keith compared them to the brief—and admittedly somewhat poor—sketches he'd made and saved on the WormHole. When he held his picture up beside the official Galra image, one of the insignias seemed close to a match...if he squinted and used his imagination.

The hairless humanoids—listed as prisoner Terra X26 0001 and Terra X26 0002—had been claimed on Kerberos via a Galra patrol to unclaimed, outer territory. The Galra wanted to expand into that sector and had been on a scouting mission. These were the first Terran prisoners they'd ever taken.

Current location—Hybrid wing.

A pit formed in Keith's stomach, and he scowled and closed the files after checking the cell numbers. While the Blades allowed half-breeds into their ranks, he'd been told that the Galra empire considered them half-creatures, but still superior to non-Galra, and that's where Keith suspected the idea for the Hybrid wing had come from. The Hybrid wing of the prison...it made him feel sick. While doing his best to avoid the actual cell block, he'd made notes on it because the Blades had no prior intelligence on it.

All captured species underwent a hybridization process to see if their biology was compatible with the Galra's. How the Galra created the Hybrids, Keith hadn't deduced. Those records were sealed for all except the highest officers, and he doubted he understood enough of the empire's advanced science to make sense of them. The senior Blades might know what to do, so his job was to get copies of as many files as he could back to base. The failure rate for the hybridization was high—only thirty percent of species could even have partially successful hybridization. If his humanoids had undergone hybridization, he had a limited time to find them. If their biology wasn't compatible, they'd die.

It took Keith another sleep cycle to find time to get to the hybrid wing. He had swiped the codes from a careless guard and went in during a shift change. He pulled up the blueprints on his comm device to find one of the Terran's cells.

Making his footfalls light, he approached the door. He paused—voices.

"My body...it's tearing itself apart. I can't keep down water anymore."

A muffled reply.

"I know...okay…"

Another response Keith couldn't hear. Frowning, he glanced at the blueprints again. These should be sealed cells. They were designed for a single prisoner and to limit outside contact with other prisoners and guards. But the Terran was talking to somebody…

They shouldn't have comm devices, either. Outside communication should've been impossible. Clearly, the Galra prison designers had missed something.

A wretching noise from inside the cell—the Terran was clearly ill. Keith frowned. If the hybridization procedure killed the Terrans, he hadn't a hope of questioning them. Maybe there was some medicine that would help the hybridization take, but he knew little of xenobiology. Ulla would've known…

But he had her humanoid xenobiology data. He didn't know what might prove helpful, but Keith went to study it. Knowing that the humanoids were from Terra X26 gave him a reference, too, although it proved of little help. The Terrans were listed as primitive carbon life forms, so he looked up what Galra medicines similar creatures usually tolerated.

In the end, he felt the best choice was a SleepPac for a sedative and a muscle relaxer. He wasn't sure if the SleepPac would prove too powerful for Terran biology, but if the Terrans were sick, he had to treat them now.

Because he couldn't slip in between shifts, Keith had to pretend to patrol his way back to the Terran's cell block. Like in all of his dealings with other Galra inside the prison, he acted bored with a hint of aloof menace underneath. That seemed to be the right tone to get other soldiers to not natter him with questions. The stolen codes got him into the cell, where he promptly shut the door. The tiny Terran, its ragged uniform soaked with sweat, lay curled up on the floor. It glared at him, eyes bright yet sunken in its face.

"You're from Terra X26?" Keith asked.

"I'm from Earth," the creature said weakly.

From behind his helmet, Keith rolled his eyes. So it was going to be pedantic. "Your body is rejecting the Galra hybridization. If it continues to do so, you'll die."

"And why do you care?" it said, voice feeble yet full of hate. Keith was impressed with the dying creature's fight.

"I need to find a Terran," Keith said.

"There's a whole seven billion of us," the Terran said.

He couldn't negotiate with the Terran while it was in this delirious state. There weren't even that many prisoners in this ship! Keith sighed and produced the SleepPac. He held it up, and the Terran eyed it suspiciously. Keith said, "Let me put this on you. It might help you."

"What...what will it do?"

"Your body is rejecting the hybridization. It'll put you to sleep and relax your muscles," Keith said. He bent down and held it out. The Terran bit at its lip and eyed both him and the SleepPac. Finally, it crawled towards him, and Keith slid the SleepPac underneath the Terran's soaked shirt. The Terran tensed while he fixed it on its back—where he could feel a damp layer of fur.

So, the hybridization procedure hadn't completely failed. The Terran's biology wasn't incompatible...this one was just resisting it.

The Terran shuddered and pulled away from Keith. Immediately, its eyelids drooped shut. It mouthed something, but Keith couldn't understand. With a silent, deflating sigh, the creature went limp. He couldn't leave it to lay sprawled on the floor, so he picked the Terran up and moved it to the paltry metal slab that served as a bed. It was hardly better than the floor, but it was some small kindness. Hopefully, it would live, and he could check on it later.

Keith rested an ear against the door and listened for passing guards. When it was clear, he left the first Terran's cell. There was another one he had to go see, and he'd taken a second SleepPac for it. If the first Terran was any indication, the second one shouldn't be doing well, either. The Terrans' cells were stacked on top of each other, so Keith only needed to descend a floor, but he took some laps to patrol as to not raise suspicion.

When he entered the second Terran's cell, Keith started in surprise. Instead of being fatally ill and weak, the second Terran sat up on his meager bed, waiting for Keith to enter. It was like the Terran had been expecting him.

What was more surprising was that Keith recognized this Terran. He'd watched him fight in the gladiatorial arena several times. Keith detested the matches, but he forced himself to at least sit through the main attractions of the hybrid matches, which most of his fellow Galra found supremely entertaining. Compared to the elegant fighting styles he practiced with the Blades, Keith found the brutish nature of the gladiatorial matches a chore to watch. To blend in among the empire guards, he endured them with a secret disgust.

"I remember you from the arena. I didn't realize you were Terran," Keith said.

"I am—was—no thanks to your people," the Terran said. It scowled and barred a nascent pair of Galra fangs. Unlike with the other Terran, the hybridization procedure had been successful with this one. While it showed no signs of traditional Galra colorings, the Terran had taken on the most common Galra physical characteristics—fur tufts, elongated ears, nocturnal vision, fangs, and claws.

The Terran's unfriendly expression—and what this Terran hybrid could do physically—made Keith's hand creep to the hilt of his blade. He didn't want to hurt it, but he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself. Yet, he sensed that the Terran knew he wasn't here to explicitly harm it.

"I need to rescue a Terran," Keith said.

"There are seven billion of us," the Terran said, fixing Keith with an icy glare.

Keith blinked—was this a Terran joke? The other Terran had said the same thing. Was it a code? Or was it—

"You overheard us," Keith said. He glanced up, and in the dim cell, several small air vent slits lined the ceiling like gills on a metal fish. So this was who the first Terran had been talking to—the vents went between their cells.

"What do you want? You gave Pidge some medicine, so I'm assuming you want her alive for some reason," the Terran said. His gaze remained sharp and hard, and his yellow eyes glowed like lanterns in the night amidst his dark fur. "It's the only reason I haven't attacked you, you know. You helped her."

Keith's mouth drew down into a frown. He hadn't much information to convince this Terran of his goodwill—he couldn't very well go about spouting off the history of the Blades in a Galra prison. With uncharacteristic hesitation, Keith said, "I think...I think I've received a message that I'm supposed to get a Terran out of prison."

The more he pondered over his dream, the more that's what it felt like—a message. Had he sent it to himself? Hairless Keith to Galra Keith? He couldn't say, but it was in his head, which was the only reason he trusted it completely. He had no reason to lie to himself.

The Terran arched an eyebrow. "A message from who?"

"Can't say."

The Terran regarded him with a new, guarded curiosity instead of outright hostility. "Is it from the Galaxy Garrison? They'd be looking for us."

"Can't say," Keith repeated, his words clipped.

"There were three of us captured—myself, Pidge, and Dr. Holt," the Terran said. "If you want one of us, you'll have to take all three of us."

Keith frowned and shook his head. "There are only two Terran prisoners on this ship. If there is a third, they're not here."

The Terran stroked at its face while thinking. Keith leaned against the door, listening to distant yet approaching footfalls. He said, "I think some guards are coming—probably to take you to another gladiatorial match. I'll come for you when the other Terran is well."

"Watch out for her," the Terran said, its tone softening. "She's...she's very sick. If she...if she dies…"

"I'll watch her," Keith said, slipping out of the cell. He turned a corner and acted as if he was on patrol, avoiding the group of guards that came for the Terran. He couldn't help him out of the arena, but he could keep both Terrans alive long enough to get them out of this prison.

When Pidge woke, her body felt like frozen cement, and her clothes were still damp. For the first time since the Galra experimented on her, she didn't ache all over like she had the flu. Pidged curled in on herself, and she placed a hand on her back, finding the smooth, silicon packaging on the square of her back that the Galra soldier had given her.

A Galra soldier? Had that been right? In her delirious state, she wondered if she'd imagined him. Her fingers smoothed over the cool, gelatinous patch. That was real enough, so the soldier had to have been real, too.

Why would a Galran soldier want to help her? The Galra had captured and imprisoned them. They'd separated her from her dad and made Shiro fight for their entertainment!

It could be another trick to gain her trust, but subtleness wasn't the Galra way. The Galra made others do what they wanted—they didn't waste time trying to gain a prisoner's trust.

Pidged ran her hand over the rest of her back. Her hair had thickened into—she swallowed a lump, unable to deny the queasy truth—what could properly be called fur. The soldier had said his medicine would help her body accept the hybridization. That meant she was part Galra herself...fur, claws, and all. A wave of purely mental nausea passed through Pidge. She'd survived, but she wasn't human any more. Taking a deep, steady breath, she pressed her hands to her face. She was a scientist—she needed to stay calm and discover what they'd done to her—even if it terrified her.

The same fur on her back covered her face and head, and her ears had become more prominent, ending in tufts. In the dim light, she studied her thicker, darker nails. They weren't proper claws, but they might grow into them still. Pidge reached down to pull off cramped boots—both her feet and hands had grown into some type of padded proto-paw.

Bending down was then she discovered the two unwelcomed appendages she'd grown.

The first was half-trapped in her uniform, and Pidge reached her hand down and wriggled a wiry, cat-like tail over the seat of her trousers, stifling a miserable moan. If Matt saw this—that she had a tail—he'd never stop making fun of her. She giggled and blinked back tears. She'd be lucky to ever see her brother again. Tail or no tail, she'd gladly put up with his teasing to be safe and back on Earth.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Pidge braced herself to face her second growth. She and Shiro had hypothesized the Galra had given them some type of growth hormone...some type of magical steroid. At least, Shiro said that it had made him grow larger. Pidge knew what steroids on Earth did, so she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised at what this alien drug had done to her. She'd grown a small penis, and it made her cringe just thinking about it.

Maybe that's why her body had resisted it—she wasn't a human male. Well...she was part male now. Pidge adjusted her uniform and found it uncomfortable and tight for her new, hybrid physique. Screwing up her courage, Pidge attempted to adjust herself, which led to awkward touching...that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Shamefully, she touched herself, exploring what was between her legs.

After that ordeal, Pidge curled up on the metal bed. She wanted to talk to Shiro and tell him she was okay, but she needed a moment. She didn't want to tell him everything...didn't know how to even start.

Sucking in a breath, Pidge whispered, "Shiro?"

Relief surged through her. Her voice really hadn't changed. Her throat was scratchy and dry, but that was the most noticeable difference.

"Shiro?"

No answer. They could've taken him to the arena again. Pidge stretched her stiff limbs and went to the water and food bowl. With her new, catlike tongue, she lapped up the water in fluid strokes and found it less awkward to drink. The food pellets were still dry and tasteless, but she ate small bites. With a bit of water, they didn't stick to her mouth, and she started to fill her empty, hollow stomach.

The door slid open, and Pidge jerked around. An involuntary hiss escaped her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hands over her face. That sound—it had really come from her!

A Galra guard stood in the doorway, and although she couldn't see his face, Pidge was certain it was the same one as before. He glanced down the hallway, and his mouth creased down into a frown. From his belt, he pulled a small knife and handed it to her.

"Hide this—they're going to make you fight. I didn't think they would, but I guess they've figured out you're not ill anymore," the Galra said.

"What—in the arena?" Pidge said. Her heart pounded, and she shook her head. She could barely stand, let along defend herself against an attacker.

The Galra nodded. "Keep the knife, and I'll see what I can do."

He motioned for her to stand, and Pidge stumbled to her feet. She tripped, and he caught her. On instinct, she pushed away, but she stopped struggling when he refused to let her fall back down. With his aid, she gained her balance, and the world spun less when she was on both feet again.

"Thanks," Pidge muttered grudgingly. "Why are you—"

"Later," the Galra soldier whispered. "You've got to survive, got it?"

Pidge swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The Galra shackled her wrists and pulled her from her cell. Pidge blinked in the light, and her stomach twisted in on itself. She was going to the arena—and she was sure she was going to die.


	11. Journey to Planet Ariel

**Journey to Ariel**

Equal to Hunk's relief at not being assigned to an invasion force was his surprise at finding that Lance was also on Sendak's mission. Hunk had mentioned that he was going on a mission, but Lance hadn't said anything about being assigned off Central. If he were honest with himself, Hunk hadn't expected Lance to remain in servitude on Central until his first deployment ended. It seemed Hunk had been wrong, but why hadn't Lance told him? Maybe Lance was that mad at Hunk. The other cadet had certainly made a point of avoiding Hunk for the first ten sleep cycles of the forty it would take to get wherever they were going on this ship. The details of their mission was secret, but they weren't equipped for a military expedition. Most of the equipment on board was designed for excavation.

Every ten vargas, cadet drills were held, but they weren't as rigorous as those they'd endured during martial training. Much of the initial mission involved the machine specialist teaching the soldiers how to use the digging equipment. As an engineer, Hunk wouldn't drive anything, but he'd be around to repair the specialized drills and bulldozers. He noted that the drills were tipped with diamond and designed to withstand solar flares—they were going somewhere in the out ranges, then.

Probably somewhere hot and dangerous.

The soldiers soon found they had more free time on this long journey than they had at Central Command. Hunk did what he'd done since he joined the army—made himself easy to like. He didn't want to become a target for abuse. He didn't know how Lance survived it, but Hunk knew he wasn't strong enough to endure.

He looked the part of the strong Galra soldier, but Hunk knew the truth—he was a fraud.

During martial training, Hunk smuggled some secret sauce and spices from home. They'd made him popular after a single meal when he'd shared some to make the mess hall food palatable. Hunk didn't like gambling much—he hadn't the credits for it, anyway—but he had played dice several times. He didn't want to seem anti-social, but when the cadets started betting on cadet-cadet wrestling matches, Hunk found another unique niche.

And today, he was winning.

Nimbler than his size suggested, Hunk dodged his opponent's charge. Then, he ducked down and flipped him over his head. The other cadet, Bliznit, grunted when he landed on his back. He wheezed, and Hunk pinned him down with an elbow.

The other cadets cheered, and the referee called it. "Hunk wins...again. Pay up, worms."

The downside of being good was that Hunk won people less money now. More people bet on him, so they split the pot amongst more people. Hunk shook his shoulders, spraying water from his damp fur. Subconsciously, he smoothed down the ruffled fur around his ears.

After four matches, Hunk was ready to be done. Bliznit stalked away, but Hunk followed him and put a hand on his shoulder. "No hard feelings—I know you've never lost."

"We'll have a rematch," Bliznit muttered, and Hunk's guts knotted up. Great, that's all he needed—an enemy.

"I said no hard feelings—it's a friendly game," Hunk said. Bliznit snorted, shrugging off his apology. Frowning, Hunk walked away and dressed in his uniform.

Eventually, he'd hoped to see Lance come down and hang out with the other cadets, but he hadn't so far. All the cadets under Sendak couldn't hate him—could they?—they didn't even know him. But these were Sendak's cats, he reminded himself. They had an incentive to avoid a social pariah like Lance.

But you don't need to act like them, Hunk told himself. He poked around the barracks but had no luck finding his friend. Skipping the more popular hang-out spots, Hunk took the long walk to the comm room. His guess was right—Lance was at work. Sort of. Well, he was playing Space Whale Invasion on the comm panel.

Hunk took a seat at the control panel beside Lance. The other cadet in the room shot him a glance, sizing Hunk up. "Just here to hang—nothing else going on in this ship," Hunk said, splaying his arms behind his head.

Lance glared at him, but the other cadet shrugged and went back to staring at his own monitor. Hunk glanced over in time to watch Lance's space whale explode and end the game. Scowling, Lance muttered, "You distracted me. I was going for a high score."

"I didn't know they had Space Whale Invasion on this ship," Hunk said. "Cutting edge military simulation?"

Lance clicked the screen away. "I installed it," he muttered, hunching over in a defensive position. "It's boring in here. There's no outside database access like in the main comm room."

Ah, so that's how Lance had kept himself from going crazy, Hunk thought. It made sense. He probably would've snapped long ago under a double schedule at Central.

"We've still got thirty sleep cycles ahead," Hunk said, propping his feet on a panel. Lance glowered at him but didn't say anything. Hunk swiveled in his chair, doing his best to remain unthreatening and casual. "So, you know where we're going?"

"Ariel," Lance said. He hunched over his screen and turned his back to Hunk. So, Lance was going to be that way again. Hunk frowned, wondering if he could get through to his friend—he refused to think of them as former friends—after what had happened at martial training and at Central Command. If Lance didn't want to accept his apologies…

No, you can't give up on him, Hunk thought, fixing himself in his seat. They were still friends. He had to believe that.

"I thought this was going to be an invasion mission," Hunk said, spilling the common rumor that he knew to be a lie. He was glad it wasn't, but he didn't dare say that aloud either.

"It's not," Lance said, his gaze still on the screen. "I'm—"

"You're not busy," Hunk said. He flicked open the Space Whale Invaders screen and began to play on the free comm station. He'd helped Lance program this, and if Lance wouldn't talk to him, he'd at least have some fun.

"Sendak really didn't tell you anything about the mission?" Lance asked. Hunk kept playing and didn't look up.

"No...we all knew it was secret...thought it would be invasion...all the tools are for digging—yeah!" Hunk pumped a fist when he cleared his level.

"Excavation of Ariel—that's the mission," Lance said. A ripple of excitement ran down Hunk's spine, but he forced himself to focus on the space whales.

Offhandedly, Hunk said, "It's pretty heavy-duty equipment."

"There was a disaster—a solar-flare—on Ariel over ten thousand years ago," Lance said.

Hunk kept playing the game, afraid if he stopped, Lance might stop talking. "What are we looking for?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't know. Something buried a long time ago, I guess. Ariel's on the outer reaches of the empire—it's not a hospitable place."

"I've seen the equipment," Hunk muttered. He shot down more of the opposing blue blues with his yellow whales.

"...need to send a comm for fuel resupply," Lieutenant Haxus said and walked into the comm room. Hunk wiped the screen away and jerked up. The Lieutenant gave Hunk a narrow-eyed gaze, but Hunk gave a smart salute and strode away. As he left, he glanced back at Lance, whose face had become pinched in concentration. Part of Hunk wanted to stay, but he'd gotten his friend to talk to him more than any time since they'd left home.

If he stayed, Hunk knew he'd get them both in trouble. Still, his insides squirmed like he'd swallowed worms. Abandoning his friend wasn't his proudest moment, but when Hunk walked away from the comm room, he swore he'd never walk away from Lance again.

Lance spent the trip to Ariel mostly in the comm room. His schedule required ten vargas on shift and six vargas off shift. Every four shifts, he got an extra four vargas, which he spent laying on his bed and listening to music on a headset. Commander Thace had two orders for him—avoid Sendak's soldiers and don't talk about the mission. Distracting himself seemed the best way to do both of those things. If he started to think about the mysterious weapon hidden at the edge of the empire, Lance's mind raced, and he wanted to keep researching. Unlike the comm room at Central Command, this one didn't have the full database access, and there were no old comm records worth reading. Unlike his lonely shift at Central, another soldier was always in the comm room with him, too, so he couldn't go through the comms unwatched.

He'd installed his old game, Space Whale Invasion, to keep himself busy. The less he thought, the more apathetic he acted, the less attention he would draw to himself...at least, he hoped. They had received few comms, but every three shifts, he sent a comm to Central command on their progress.

On sleep cycle thirty, they had their last fuel resupply and entered the final stretch of the journey to Ariel. By this point, Lance was certain Commander Thace would've asked him to send another comm out to his contacts, but at the end of every shift, Lance found himself disappointed. Since coming on the ship, the Commander had avoided Lance except to have him log his routine comm to Central for him.

You did blackmail him, Lance reminded himself. That might have something to do with it.

Sendak and Haxus might also be watching Thace—a more likely scenario.

For once, Lance followed orders and kept to himself. That wouldn't have been hard except Hunk kept trying to talk to him. He'd come up to the comm room several times, but Lance kept his distance when Hunk visited. Normally, he would've been glad for the company after his lonely time in the Galra military, but talking to Hunk might compromise him. It seemed harmless enough to let Hunk play Space Whale Invaders, and Hunk had gotten better about avoiding officers when he came to visit Lance in the comm room.

If he hadn't been under orders, Lance would've tried to maybe go with Hunk and hang out with the other Galra soldiers. But if he was going to find this weapon, he had to keep to himself.

What would happen when they—him and Thace—did find the weapon? Lance wondered, staring at the blank screen in front of him with his chin propped on his hands. Since he first read the message, he hadn't given much of a thought as to what it would mean. Commander Thace's message had been clear—he would destroy the weapon before he let Sendak bring it back.

That was for the best, Lance decided. The Galra didn't need another weapon. If his price for leaving Central was a bit of sabotage...no guilt there.

If he didn't get caught.

Lance's insides twisted, and he pushed that thought away. He couldn't think about that...treason was punishable by death. Of course, they'd probably torture and imprison him first.

When Lance went to log his routine comm, a small message was attached at the bottom, It read 'the fourth engine room in two vargas', which was when he got off his shift. Finally, some word, he thought, and his repressed excitement sustained Lance until the end of his shift.

Lance went to the fourth engine, trying not to slouch or look guilty. He felt as if an invisible aura that smelled of traitor wafted off him. When he got to the engine room, he used his hearing to navigate his way through the steamy air, which was produced by the giant engine. To keep it from overheating, fluid tubes wrapped around it, and those steamed to release the heat. Lance stood beside one of the hissing tubes while it vented steam, skulking against the tube.

"Good—you're on time," Thace said, appearing like a shadow from the other side of the engine. Lance started but composed himself.

"Reporting for treason," Lance said acidly. The Command shot Lance a scathing look that made him regret his little quip. "Sorry sir...no jokes, sir."

"On this ship, always assume you could be watched," Thace said, glancing around. Surveying Lance, he said, "I wondered who you reported to, but you're an amateur."

At that, Lance stiffened. "I'm not an amateur—I have many...many spy skills."

Thace sighed. "You do have some skill, and now, you're going to put that to use."

Lance's ears pricked, and he forced himself to remain rooted and not bounce on his toes. This was what he'd come for—some type of adventure—something outside of the bitter life of an unwanted Central Command soldier. As a bonus, he'd get to screw over the empire that he didn't want to serve to begin with.

"I want you to send a test communication to see how closely the channels are being watched," Thace said. "I suspect the answer is quite closely, so I don't want to risk a real message until I'm certain."

"That should be easy enough," Lance said, leaning back and crossing his arms like talking about sabotaging the empire was something he did every day. Well...now that was sort of true, he thought.

"They can't trace it to you," Thace said, shooting Lance a level glance. "I can't protect you if you're caught."

Lance swallowed hard. "I understand."

If he was caught sending an unauthorized messaged, he'd be labeled a spy. If he turned Thace in, no one would believe him now. He was in too deep to get caught.

"Second, I want you to develop a private comm channel for us on Ariel," Thace said. He fixed Lance with another over-serious glance. "When this weapon is found, I won't let it fall into the empire's hands. Do you understand what that means?"

Wetting his dry mouth, Lance whispered, "We're going to destroy it."

"Probably," Thace muttered, glancing away. He furrowed his brows in concentration. "If we have to...if we can."

Lance held his tongue, too afraid to ask about the weapon again. He suspected there was no wheedling he could do to get Thace to tell him more, so he let it alone. He said, "I'll build a channel. On planet, it shouldn't be difficult to have a private link. I'll scramble the signal so it can't be picked up."

"Make it so," Thace said and snapped out of his thoughts. He gave Lance a curt nod and walked away. When he was gone, Lance's shoulders sagged. Instead of turning the Commander in, he'd truly decided to become complicit in spying on the empire. Now, instead of just knowing about the treason, he was about to become a partner in crime.

It was too late to turn back.

Lance worked on the private comm channel first. It was easy enough to swipe some spare parts to build a scrambler. He set up the channel but didn't activate it. On the ship, there was no reason to, and it would attract suspicion. When they were on Ariel, he would give Thace a scrambler for his comm device, too. In the chaos of hunting for the weapon, Lance assumed he would get time to turn it on and test it.

The second task—setting up the fake message—proved more difficult. This wasn't because Lance didn't know what he was doing, but he was never alone in the comm room. If he sent it while he was on his shift, they'd trace it back to him.

If it's being monitored as closely as Thace thinks, they'll definitely trace it to your station, Lance thought. He had only five shifts left to send the message before they reached Ariel.

His opportunity came when he arrived for his fourth to last scheduled shift early. After the long journey, all of the comm soldiers had become familiar with each other coming and going. Lance hadn't tried to make friends with them, but they'd developed a bland yet functional work relationship.

"I'll cover for you so you can leave early," Lance told his fellow cadet, Ordell, who left his station with brief thanks. Lance waited at his station and worked until Ordell had left the room. Then, when he was alone before the other soldiers came in, Lance went over to Ordell's empty station.

With a pang of guilt, Lance sat down at Ordell's station and waited until he had left. Then, Lance sent the comm, which would pingback and travel to a dummy folder on the ship. After sending it, Lance went to his own station to work. Half-way through his shift, Commander Sendak strode imperiously into the room.

Hunkering down, Lance ignored the Commander, who sat down at Ordell's now vacant station. After looking through the folders, he recorded something on a chip before striding away again. When he'd gone, Lance exhaled.

"What was he looking for?" another comm soldier asked. Lance shrugged, but the two other soldiers on duty shot each other pained looks. Neither Commander had come to the comm room during the journey—they had underlings to send messages for them. Sendak's personal attention meant something ominous—that the comm had been traced by him personally.

Lance wanted to tell Thace, but he had no way of letting the Commander know without sending a message. After Sendak's intrusion, he couldn't risk it.

When Sendak came back into the comm room with Thace, Ordell, and Haxus in tow, Lance blanched. His ears flattened out of instinct, but Lance took several deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. Haxus turned towards the three on duty comm soldiers. "Get out. We've business here."

Lance scurried away before Ordell could call out to him.

"Sir! It wasn't—"

"I know a lie when I smell one," Sendak said in a low, gravelly voice. "Let's have a little investigation, shall we? I know you send the comm. It was a clever, little ploy—a test of our defenses right at the end."

The door shut behind Lance, and he forced himself to walk back to the barracks on wobbly, jelly legs. He lay down in his bunk and put on music to calm himself. His hands shook, so he clenched them by his side. Screwing his eyes shut, he waited in the dark through heavy heartbeats.

Surely, Ordell would turn him in. He'd seen him come in early. Sendak would know when the comm was sent. Swallowing loudly, Lance waited for the inevitable—

But it never came. In six vargas, his comm beeped, waking him for his next shift.

Lance approached the comm room with hesitant steps as if expecting an ambush. When none came, he sunk down at his panel. He hadn't been caught—at least, not yet. In less than forty vargas, they'd land on Ariel, and the real mission would begin.


	12. Terra Incognito

**Terra Incognita**

Thace had spent an inordinate amount of time studying the geography of planet Ariel in anticipation, but nothing had prepared him for his first sighting of the terrestrial body. The far side of the planet had active volcano activity, and spurts of red fire danced along the horizon. Below, shadows played across the rippling, black ridges like the hide of a great beast. Endless lava flows merged together, forming a dark crust on the surface below.

Somewhere on the hostile planet was Voltron. Or part of it.

The solar flare disaster had moved Ariel permanently closer to its sun and destabilized the planet. The mission to find Voltron had to wait for several vargas until their dig location rotated away from the scorching hot sun side of the planet so they could land. After that, they'd landed the drills. Even on the dark side of the planet, it would be imperative for them to dig down and get underground and out of the solar exposure on Ariel's surface. Fortunately, the solar night on Ariel was quite long.

"It's beautiful...in its own brutal way," Sendak said as they stood on the deck watching the soldiers drill below them. "It's fitting I should be the one to conquer it."

"We," Thace said smoothly. Sendak, with his naked ambitions for power, was potentially the last Galra outside of Zarkon himself that Thace would have chosen to go on this mission with. He'd suggested to General Mordak that either he or Sendak should lead this mission, but not both. Mordak had insisted on sending the pair because "your ambitions will keep you from failing."

Inwardly, Thace smirked. The General couldn't have guessed how right his words were. Thace wouldn't fail—the empire wouldn't get this weapon.

"The coordinates cover this broad area," Sendak said, ignoring Thace and gesturing at the puff of black cloud where the drilling had started. Thace expected some type of power grab from Sendak eventually but letting the other commander think he would gain all the glory worked in his favor for the moment. The wrath of the general when Sendak returned without Voltron would be reward enough for Thace. As for his role in it...his thirteen sun cycles infiltrating the Galra command had taught him that some punishments couldn't be avoided. They simply must be born. He would endure Sendak until he could make his move. Until then, he had a plan to neutralize the ambitious commander.

"We'll break the drilling equipment into teams," Thace said. "That way, we'll cover more ground."

"And we are sure it's here?" Haxus asked lightly. Ever his commander's shadow, the Lieutenant lurked behind Sendak.

"The coordinates come from the druids and the queen," Sendak said. "I wasn't about to suggest they were fake...if not very precise."

Sensing the potential for valuable information, Thace glanced back at Sendak. "And what of the other coordinates? Do we continue to fly around the galaxy after the Ariel mission?"

Sendak gave Thace a searching stare. Thace silently cursed himself for his greed. Sendak knew he was fishing for information. If Sendak knew anything of real value—anything Thace himself didn't already know or guess at—he wouldn't share it now.

"The mission on Ariel must succeed first," Sendak said, tucking his arms behind his back. Thace flicked a quick, sideways gaze at Sendak.

"Accurately put," Thace said. At that moment, all of their comm devices blinked. The face of one of the lead engineers appeared on each of their comm devices.

"We've broken through into an extensive cave system," one of the soldiers reported over the screen.

Thace shut his device. Sendak said, "Excellent. We can supervise this mission in person now."

From the start, Thace wanted to supervise the drilling in person, but he forced himself to mirror Sendak's own attitudes and desires. If Sendak assumed Thace thought the same way he did, Thace might have a chance of beating Sendak to Voltron. Letting others fill in his attitudes and thoughts had risen him—a spy for the Blade of Marmora—through the Galra ranks. It was so easy sometimes...people created what they wanted to believe, Thace thought as he descended the ship's elevator towards the surface. Sendak saw a commander with the same ambitions as his own, and someone that preferred to let his underlings do his work for him. That was the attitude Thace aimed to mirror now. The success of his private mission depended on it.

The cave entrance loomed ahead like a jagged mouth, and soldiers hustled equipment and supplies into their camp on Ariel. The brittle yet glass sharp lava crunched below Thace's boots. Thace ran a hand over the cave wall. These were lava tubes, and knowing the history of Ariel's destruction, they probably stretched all the way across the planet—who knew how deep.

"Sir, where do you want your tent set up?" a soldier asked. Thace glanced around and picked a spot deep down a side tunnel. He chose a spot away from Sendak and the main dig zone. If he needed to slip away, he needed privacy.

"Send for cadet Lorran," Thace ordered a soldier once the main bulk of his quarters were readied. "He'll be working in the comm room."

While Thace had to supervise the main digging, Lance didn't. If his unwanted minion had done his job, Thace should have a way to map the lava tubes remotely and without Sendak's interference. He sat down in a chair to wait with the alter patience of a hunting cat.

When Lance arrived at Thace's tent, he glanced over his shoulder like a nervous pup. Thace sighed. "Don't do that," he muttered, "you're drawing attention to yourself by looking suspicious."

"Sorry, sir," Lance said. He glanced around Thace's tent. "Ugh...I think Sendak's tent is bigger?"

Thace rolled his eyes. "This serves my needs—and you better as well."

Lance nodded and opened his belt, pulling out a device that looked like a tangle of wires. "I need your comm device," Lance said. Thace took it off and handed it over, letting Lance install his contraption. When Lance finished, he sealed it up the best he could, but there was still a noticeable lump on the comm device. Frowning, Thace examined it.

"This won't go unnoticed?" Thace asked, thumbing at the alteration like picking a scab.

Lance shrugged. "Only one of the comm guys should know what it is...but don't let anyone look at your screen or they'll see the tab for the second channel."

Thace snorted. "There's no chance of that."

He'd incapacitated anyone that looked into his private affairs. There were more than a little illegal message signaling and an unauthorized private comm channel in his past. As a cadet, he'd made a mission of technology subterfuge, but once he was prompted, he'd found it more difficult to carry out direct, mechanical sabotage. His specialty had been bombs, which conveniently left little evidence of who had built them.

Lance cleared his throat. "Sir, what am I supposed to do now...now that we're here?"

"We need to map the tunnels, and we need to do it away from the main drill site," Thace said, leaning back in his chair. "There's a good chance Sendak finds the weapon first, but the coordinates are for this general site, and with this system of caves, it could be deeper than anticipated or in a different direction than where the main dig site is focused. That's our only chance to find it first."

The cadet nodded, even as his brows creased together. "We don't have any of the drilling equipment…"

"I'm going to lead a smaller group of soldiers to a secondary dig site," Thace said. "There should be small, handheld cutting tools. You'll conveniently 'misplace' one of those today. Then, I'll send you back to the main camp, and you'll go somewhere else...somewhere dark and deep."

Lance's shoulders sagged. "Alone?"

Thace fixed Lance with a level gaze. "To do this job is to be alone," Thace said, echoing the words he'd been told long ago by another Blade. This was sabotage against the Galra empire—against possibly Zarkon himself this time. They were very much alone and without allies on the planet Ariel.

Lance wandered through the bustling dig site that teamed like a flooded anthill and tried to look like he had a purpose. Thace had sent him the updated coordinates of the cave system that they'd already mapped. Lance glanced at the tiny spec of known caverns—the rest of the given coordinate area was a large blank on his screen. He'd have to explore it...alone.

It's too late for you to back out now, Lance told himself. He'd signed up for this mission, and if descending into the caverns was what he had to do, he'd stuff the fears of giant, tunneling monsters out of his head and get down to work.

Take a snack with you, Lance thought. He knew he was stalling, but he headed into the mess hall tent first. The soldiers were on eight vargas shifts, but with only four vargas of rest in between. Lance's shift was supposed to be at Thace's drill site in twenty dobashes. There, he'd grab the hand drill before disappearing down a dark hole into Ariel.

"Lance!" Hunk called, waving him to a table. Ignoring caution, Lance went over and sat beside Hunk, who held up a little metal card stamped with numbers. "We're on the same shift cycle! Good luck, huh?"

Inwardly, Lance groaned. He shared his work shift with the one cadet on all of Ariel—no, in all of the galaxy—that might miss him if he disappeared during his shift. Forcing a little grin, Lance said, "That's great, but I think the Commander wants me working away from the main site."

Hunk's brow furrowed. "Oh, I was told Sendak wanted every available soldier working at the drill sites until we recovered…"

Hunk glanced around and lowered his voice. Hunk muttered, "I think I know what we're looking for."

Lance froze even as his heartrate galloped. He forced himself to look curious and surprised.

"What do you think it is—and who did you hear it from?" Lance asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

"Some of the cadets heard Haxus and Sendak arguing about it at the main dig site," Hunk said, leaning forward. "They were discussing how much alien tech they might find—and if there would be any defenses to it."

Thace had been holding out on him. "Defenses?"

"It's apparently supposed to be from an old, extinct civilization," Hunk whispered. "I don't know anything about this planet, but it's possible something survived all this time under the lava."

Something that would blow Lance to pieces when he stumbled across it. Lance swallowed his food, but it went down like a blob of wax. "Aren't you afraid that we'll activate it?"

If they were looking for a weapon's system...especially one that was intact on this wasteland. Lance wondered what kind of power it was capable of. That must be why the empire wanted it. This thing must be powerful beyond his imagining.

And he was going to find it and destroy it, Lance thought with an inward groan. Hunk's information left him devoid of appetite.

"See you later," Lance said, excusing himself and hurrying off while Hunk was still eating. Even though Lance knew he would need energy for his mission, he couldn't swallow another bit of food. His nerves got the better of him, so he turned off as much of his brain as he could and worked to do exactly what he'd been ordered to by Thace.

At the drill site, Lance was assigned a hazard suit to go over his uniform. Once he'd slipped some water in a pouch, Lance found stealing the hand drill easier than expected. No one stopped him from absconding with the equipment. The chaos of the dig gave him cover, and when someone stopped him, Lance said he was running an errand to Thace's personal tent. That bought him all the logistical cover he needed, and he slipped into a dark, neighboring cave. This one was considerably smaller than the main caverns, and Lance set a timer on his comm device. He'd have four vargas to descend into the cave and four to return.

Turning on the headlamp on his hazard suit, Lance walked downwards into the unknown. At first, he shook with nerves, but by the second vargas, he'd found himself bored of crunching through solidified lava bubbles.

He scanned the walls, noticing several cracks and possible entrances into branching tunnels. At four vargas, his comm device beeped, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Immediately, he felt guilty. He hadn't come close to finding anything of interest, and he could only retrace his steps this far on his next shift. No, he'd have to drill and explore a side tunnel. Lance left the hand drill by the most promising branch on his way back to the main site. That would remove the logistics of having to steal the drill a second time, too.

On his next three shifts, Lance explored the side tunnels, which were narrower and rougher going than the main tunnel. He cut himself on the glass like lava that broke under his touch and did the best to mend his scratches. Still, there was no sign of any alien tech—just more caverns that crept across Ariel like veins.

On his fourth shift, Lance reported and discovered Sendak had changed the site locations—now one was at his main tunnel. Cursing himself, Lance pulled up the expanded map on his comm device. He ducked away and messaged Thace on the private channel.

"Dig site changed—need a new target," Lance muttered. His insides sunk. All his work would be for nothing—Sendak would get twice as far in a shift as he had in four.

He needed to be more efficient—he needed a better piece of equipment, Lance thought. He went back to the dig site and strolled around the equipment like casually browsing at a space mall. He needed— _yes_! A small, mobile drill on a hover cart sat neglected to the site. It was too small to be of use opening the main tunnels, but on the cart, he wouldn't have to carry it.

Lance pressed some buttons on the hover cart, and its panel blinked, recognizing his codes. It followed him away from the main site like a leaden puppy nipping at his heels.

"Where are you going?" Hunk asked. Lance jumped, cursing himself for being surprised. "The drill sites were moved—they're that way."

"I...I'm going to explore a new site," Lance said, cursing himself silently. Why now of all confounded times had Hunk chosen to come and find him?

"I didn't know we were allowed to do that," Hunk said, frowning.

The jig was up. Lance couldn't decide how to dodge another round of questions. With a defeated sigh, Lance said, "It's on the Commander's orders."

Hunk's eyebrows shot up. "Can I go with you? I could help, you know. I can get a hand drill."

"I...ugh...okay," Lance muttered. What harm could taking Hunk along be? It's not like he'd come close to finding anything, but for that matter, neither had Sendak. A little nugget of doubt crept into Lance's mind. What if there wasn't anything on Ariel at all? What if it was bad information—or a more elaborate version of the little trick message he'd used to see if Sendak was monitoring his outgoing comms? Did they suspect Thace as a spy, too?

Lance shook his head. This was a long way to travel into space on bad information. He couldn't go down a conspiracy wormhole right now.

Lance led Hunk to one of the unmapped caverns, but this one sat near Sendak's original dig site, so Lance didn't dare go into it earlier. There was a side tunnel in the area, and Sendak's probes marked it as a dead end with some smaller, branching tunnels that weren't of interest. Apparently, they expected the weapon to be of some size and easily detectable, so the smaller tunnels weren't worth excavating. What Sendak saw as a failure, Lance recognized as a last-ditch opportunity.

"Let's start near the back," Lance said, deciding he'd rather explore further away today and closer tomorrow. Hunk turned the drill on, and it easily ate into the lava wall. The drill spewed glass-like shards, and the cadets stood back while it worked. When it gave an airy whirring noise that indicated it had drilled through the lava and reached the open cave on the other side, Hunk turned it off.

The first tunnel they explored was short, but it had another branch on it, too. Glancing at his comm device, Lance saw they had two vargas left, and they tunneled through the next wall of lava. This one was thicker, and in the next cave, they hunkered down and waddled through.

"It's a little cramped in here," Hunk muttered.

"The tunnel dead ends again," Lance said with a sigh. "Ready the drill."

The next tunnel was equally small, but when Lance stared at their map, he realized they'd gone off in a different direction than any of the main dig sites. When his comm device beeped at four vargas, Lance chewed on his lip. His shift was over, but he hadn't accomplished anything during his stunted shifts. If he wanted to find anything of use, he'd have to keep looking. He was only one Galra racing against Sendak's around-the-clock army in the next tunnel over.

"Hunk, I want to keep going—you can go back."

"No way—our shift is over! I'm not leaving you out here in some cave system," Hunk said, crossing his arms.

Lance sighed, afraid Hunk would do this. His friend always had a stubborn streak. "I want to explore some more," Lance muttered. He didn't have time to keep retracing his steps, and they'd moved into a new area. "I have some water and food. I'll be fine."

Hunk shook his head. "If you're staying, I'm staying."

A ghost of a smile touched Lance's face. "When you're starving, you've only got your own stubbornness to blame."

"Thanks, I'll remind you of that when you're grouchy because you didn't sleep," Hunk said, but he flicked on the drill, and they cut through another wall.

The passages stayed small, and whenever he had a choice, Lance continued to drill into the blank and unexplored direction of the map. It was a choose-your-own-adventure into blackness, and it was the most useful Lance had yet felt in his time in the Galra army. The irony of that thought wasn't lost on Lance...he'd only felt useful as a soldier when he was a spy.

When the drill churned through its fourteenth wall—after they'd been out a total of ten vargas—they found something new. Instead of being tiny and jagged, and the lava cave on the other side was smooth and slopped, and something glittered in the rock.

"Look at this!" Hunk called and stepped inside.

Remembering the weapon system's defenses, Lance reached for his arm—but it was too late. The ground cracked, and Hunk slid into the darkness with a yowl. Trying to grab his arm, Lance charged in after him, fell down through the paper-thin floor, and then slid down another smooth slide into darkness. At the bottom, he piled into Hunk, who moaned when Lance landed on him.

"This thing could have defenses," Lance muttered into Hunk's back. Hunk sighed at the useless warning.

"I just think this lava sucks," Hunk said. Lance reached for one of the floor fragments that had slid down with them. Under his light, they glowed a faint, eerie blue.

"Whoa," Hunk said, picking up a piece to examine it. "This isn't lava."

Lance opened his comm device and sent a message to Thace with their coordinates. His heart jumped inside of his chest—he'd finally found something other than another cave system. "Let's keep going," Lance said.

"We lost the drill," Hunk said. He stood up and brushed the dust from his suit. Lance stretched out, realizing he could stand up again.

"This cavern is huge," Lance said, his voice swallowed by the ceiling. "What if it's all made of this rock?"

Hunk sighed. "I suppose you want to find out? Cat, I didn't know you were such an adventurer."

His eyes bright, Lance turned to Hunk. "This is the coolest thing we've done—maybe ever. Don't you want to know what's down here?"

"It's cooler than Alien Whale Invaders?" Hunk grinned. For the first time since he left home, Lance laughed, and his voice bounced around the cavern. A shiver ran down his spine—one of excitement and not fear. This place hadn't seen another being in thousands of years—if ever.

What made him think someone else had been here? Lance wondered, but he'd already begun to walk forward, drawn by the glowing rocks embedded into the lava. They could be natural, but they held a strangeness to them that made Lance think they hadn't been mined on Ariel. The way they shimmered and tricked his eyes with their subtle glow...Lance had never seen anything like it. Hunk picked up several rocks to use as samples, and Lance let him continue working. He felt drawn onwards like something in this cavern tugged at his subconscious.

"We're in the right place," Lance whispered when the cavern narrowed again. This time, Lance didn't feel claustrophobic. He reached out and fingered the decaying remains of an archway. Blue carvings swirled under his hand, and a shudder passed through Lance. These weren't simple pieces of earth. Someone had made them or at least altered them into a strange, new object. It was nothing that the Galra could do. Of that, Lance was certain.

"It's caved in," Hunk said. He thudded his fist on the wall beneath the archway. "There's no way through without a drill."

Without realizing it, Lance's eyes fluttered shut. Beneath his hand, the wall felt warm and alive. The feeling of being watched—of being judged—became acute, but Lance opened himself to it. He had nothing to hide—he wanted to find this weapon...not for the empire, not for Zarkon, not even for Thace. He wanted to find it for himself.

The wall shattered, and Hunk screamed and jumped back. Hunk shot Lance a worried glance. "W-what did you do?"

"We're in," Lance said and stepped through the doorway without hesitation. He knew the strange arch had responded to his touch, and it allowed him to pass. On the other side, pillars in what must've been a grand room of some sort glowed the same soft, iridescent blue. Between the ten pillars, a giant, metal red lion lay sprawled on its side.


	13. The Enemy of My Enemy

Note: Thanks to Amber Pen and fanficLove2014 for reading and commenting with a lot of regularity! I kind of held off on updating this weekend while watching season 7. XP I was reading a fic where the Galra take over Earth, so fic and canon converged nicely for once.

 **The Enemy of My Enemy**

Even though it left an awkward outline, Pidge slid the blade down her her leg and tried to hide it, and she used the physical body of her—what ally?—Galra soldier to shield the outline of the dagger from the other guard. She guessed they didn't think her as much of a threat. The arena—her stomach rolled, but she didn't dare waste her energy fighting the guards. She needed to save her strength for the real fight that would come all too soon in front of a ravenous crowd. She'd feared public speaking on a stage, which made her feel like a deer in the headlight, but she'd never imagined having to entertain people for a living. She had to do something...anything...to get out of this.

"I'm sick," Pidge whispered as they led her down the hallway. The twisting in her stomach at least made it only half a lie.

"It does look malnourished," her ally guard said in a bored tone.

"It?" Pidge hissed, and her insides squirmed. What was she now? Galra or human? Boy or girl? Maybe she was an it...not that thought depressed her right now. She had other worries...like surviving.

The other guard grunted. "It won't be any fun putting this puny thing in by itself. We got another we want to try out? If we give them a bad show, we'll never hear the end of it."

"Sure, I've got a pick—a Twi'lek half-breed."

The other guard chuckled, and Pidge glanced around the massive complex they led her down. The square rows reminded her of a massive, demented Lego tower. She didn't remember much from when she'd come to this Galra prison, but there were hundreds of cells like hers in this block alone. She shivered, imagining all of the miserable people locked up inside of them. Did the Galra experiment on all of their prisoners? If so, that was hundreds of poor souls suffering in this place like she did.

Anger made Pidge flush. Suddenly, she wanted to fight but not in the arena. She wanted to attack the Galra for real and not just for their entertainment. If there was a way to strike at the Galra...anyway...she would take it.

The guards ushered her into a holding cage and slammed the door. Pidge sank down in the center of the cage and waited. She glanced around—there were five other cages, but Shiro wasn't there. Pidge frowned, hoping to see him before her match. That was selfish of her, but she wanted that desperate lifeline as the wave of panic threatened to crest over her and drown her.

Maybe she wouldn't recognize him. Her mind lurched and dipped, flipping her world upside down. Her mouth went dry. He wouldn't recognize her either...not like this. She licked her lips, trying to summon her voice.

"Shiro?" she asked. Two of the other hybrids glanced at her, but neither said anything. One wore a ragged tunic, but it was a faded blue and not the orange and white color of her own ragged uniform. Both hybrids turned their backs to her and retreated into their own private thoughts. Pidge shuddered and curled up, placing her head on her knees. She wasn't going anywhere, and they'd give her all the time she needed to stew in her own, stinking fear.

The guards came back with another prisoner, and Pidge craned her head around to see the half-breed—notably not a created hybrid. The alien had a single, multi-colored appendage that swung from her head and twitched like a prehensile tail. She had the luminous yellow eyes, but she lacked all other secondary Galra features. Splotches of yellow, purple, and blue dappled her rose-colored skin, which looked sleek like an amphibian. Someone, the coloring made her glow instead of looking like she'd gotten a bad sunburn. Ignoring the guards, the pink alien gave Pidge a calculating gaze, sizing her up while the guards deposited the two of them in the cage together. A grin tugged perpetually on the corner of her mouth as if this entire situation was one huge game and only she knew the rules.

A mischievous smile quirked its way across the alien's face. "What a precious little thing you are. I think we're going to be best friends very soon."

"I'm not an it," Pidge hissed but instantly stifled the sound. She sounded like a peevish housecat...and her flickering tail, now puffed and angry, reminded her that that wasn't far from the truth at the moment.

The alien grinned and sat on the ground, patting the spot beside her. Hesitantly, Pidge sat down beside her cage mate. Leaning in, the alien whispered, "You've got a friend, I see."

The alien fingered the blade, which sent Pidge's heart racing. When Pidge tried to jerk away, the alien put an arm around her, pulling her close. The musky, stall smells of their two unwashed bodies made Pidge's newly sensitive nose wrinkle in disgust. The pink alien refused to release her, so she reluctantly settled into the forced-friendliness of the embrace.

In her ear, the alien whispered, "We're going to fight to the death—it's what the Galra do. I think they'll let us fight together against a bigger opponent. You look scrawny, and I'm such a thin thing. I'll help you out of this, but whoever gave you that sword wants to keep you alive—not a bad friend to have in a place like this."

Pidge wriggled out of the alien's grasp and scooted to face her. "Who are you?" Pidge asked.

The alien gave Pidge a sly grin. "Names don't mean much in here."

"Well, they do on Earth—I'm Pidge...err, Katie Holt," she said.

The alien wrinkled her nose, and under her gaze, Pidge fought the urge to squirm. The alien reached out, playing with Pidge's fur tipped ears. Again, Pidge jerked away, although she resisted the urge to growl. This alien was too touchy!

The alien giggled, but the friendliness of the sound never reached her blue slit eyes where something frosty lingered. "You are precious—being a hybrid suits you. I'd heard they made them in here, but I hadn't seen one properly. They haven't let me out, you know."

"I didn't ask for this. I don't want to be a hybrid," Pidge snapped. "I want to be human."

The pink alien rolled her eyes, and her head-tail twitched like an irritated worm.

"Well, I don't want to be in prison, but sometimes you get betrayed by your partner while robbing the Galra empire, so we don't all get what we want," the alien said, fidgeting with the end of her knee-length head appendage. "I was born a half-breed—it comes with some perks. I'm deadly and adorable—and my name is Ezor."

Pidge blinked stupidly at Ezor. "You...you robbed the Galra?" Pidge asked. Even to her, that sounded like suicide.

"I have before—looting goods and weapons from their stores, mostly—but this time, I was betrayed," Ezor said. While her voice remained cheery, a flint-hard look flitted through her gaze. Pidge didn't want to be the person that had wronged Ezor.

"Have you fought in the arena?" Pidge asked.

Ezor shook her head. "I was transferred here from another prison recently—I almost escaped that one. I guess they thought I needed more security."

Glancing around, Pidge dared to lean closer to Ezor again. "Do you think you can escape from here?"

With a grin, Ezor poked the blade concealed at Pidge's hip. "You might be able to," Ezor whispered, "if you've got...help...maybe a special friend."

Frowning, Pidge turned away from Ezor. Pidge didn't know anything about the mysterious Galra soldier that had come to her and given her the medicine that had allowed her to survive her hybrid transformation. She knew even less about why he'd given her the blade and why he felt compelled to help her. Knowing so little, she didn't think she could trust him. She might not have a choice, Pidge thought, her insides sinking. If her options were staying in here and fighting versus gambling her freedom on a rogue solider...well, that wasn't much of a choice at all.

A squad of guards came to escort Pidge and Ezor into the arena. They handed both of them blunt swords that Pidge didn't think could even give her a paper cut. Keeping her leg pressed against Ezor to hide her more useful weapon, she silently thanked the soldier that had given it to her. It became abundantly clear that he'd known these weren't designed to be fair fights. Ezor snorted with professional disdain when she examined her weapon that couldn't even prick her finger and draw blood, but she didn't say anything to the guards. Beyond the final door, the loud cheers of the crowd made Pidge's stomach roll. She grasped her weapon tightly and shot a glance up at Ezor, whose expression had gone from playful to cold and calculating like a snake waiting to strike.

When the guards led them out into the dusty yet open space, Pidge stumbled in the bright lights and was overcome with agoraphobia after being trapped in the dark, cramped cell. She tried to shrink back through the door, but Ezor grabbed her by the hand and jerked her forward. "We'll go back to back," Ezor shouted over the crowd so Pidge could hear her, "and that should eliminate all blind spots."

Pidge nodded and pressed herself against the half-breed. Her slim shoulders rested against Ezor's equally thin hips, and Pidge bit her lip, trying to control her shaking, which translated like tiny tremors into Ezor's body. A gate on the other side of the arena opened, and unable to control herself, Pidge gasped. Another hybrid ambled out, and this one had blood-shot yellow eyes and wore a ragged, blue loincloth. Pidge met its gaze, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face as it faced a helpless thing like Pidge, who looked equally ragged. It had blue fur and a pair of white horns, but when it saw the pair, it hesitated.

Ezor did not. She threw her blade, and it slammed into the creature's shoulder. The creature hollered and tugged the blade out, tossing it down like a toy.

"I...I don't think it wants to fight!" Pidge yelled.

"Here, it doesn't matter—one of us has to win," Ezor said, her voice low and tipped with an edge that dripped with poison. Pidge swallowed and raise her weapon. The creature raised a massive, metal club. It lumbered forward and swung the club, causing them to scatter. Pidge rolled to its right and sliced at its leg. Blood sprayed, and the creature howled, stamping and turning to attack Pidge. Scurrying away, Pidge avoided its blows. Ezor leaped on its back, and when it tried to tug her off, Pidge darted back in to distract it with feeble whacks.

When Pidge sliced the creature's ankle, it wailed and smacked her aside like a doll. Ezor used the distraction to climb on its shoulders and twist its neck. The creature staggered, and Pidge's stomach rolled in revulsion. She scrambled away, trying not to look at the shocked and pained look on the hybrid's face as it registered what happened with its last breath. Ezor jumped off her perch before the creature fell dead on the dirt.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Pidge turned to face Ezor.

"Finish her! Finish her!" the crowd chanted.

Frantically, Pidge shook her head. Ezor glanced at Pidge's sword and mouthed, "Drop it."

Pidge lifted her hands and let the sword fall. The crowd roared their disapproval. Ezor raised her hands in return, and the disapproval boomed in Pidge's ears. To Pidge's relief, the guards came into the ring to escort them both out.

"Should've attacked her," one of the guards scolded Pidge. "I bet credits that only the Twi'lek half-breed would be standing."

Pidge's stomach soured, but the noise of the crowds died as they left the main arena hallways. The guards shepherded both of them into an elevator. As the doors shut, Pidge felt a hand rest lightly on her hips. She glanced at Ezor, who'd pressed herself against Pidge—and against her blade. Suddenly, Pidge realized what she meant to do.

When the elevator moved, Ezor drew the concealed blade and attacked the pair of guards on their right. Pidge ducked, avoiding the guards on the left. One of them reached for an alarm panel on the wall, but Pidge jerked him down. Instead of attacking, the other guard hastily pressed commands into his comm device. Pidge and the guard that tried to call for help wrestled on the floor until the other guard stunned him.

Finished with her initial pair of guards, Ezor turned to the remaining guard. He held his pistol at her and hissed, "Wait! I'm trying to help you!"

With a grunt, Pidge crawled out from under the stunned guard. "You're the guard that gave me that blade?"

"Yes, and I want it back," he said, "but first, both of you need to disguise yourselves. We can disguise you as guards, and then, I can move the guards into your cells. If the cells aren't occupied in the next ten doboshes, an alarm will trigger. We need to move fast."

Ezor glanced down at the blade, and her eyes narrowed, but then, she gave him a cheerful smile, which failed to reach her eyes. Ezor flipped the blade around and handed it to the Galra guard. "I'll take a blaster, then, but that's a unique weapon. I wouldn't mind having another look at it later."

The guard stowed it in a sheath. "No chance. It was only on loan."

With a shrug, Ezor began to strip the guards of their armor. Pidge helped but felt clumsy and slow next to the other two, who worked with the trained speed of professional criminals that were used to an invisible, ticking clock. Pidge and Ezor changed into the uniforms, and although Pidge was too short, she adjusted it the best she could. She still had a tail, which allowed her to blend in well enough as a real Galra. Ezor had the height to make her outfit work, but it slid around on her thin shoulders, and she wrapped her head-tail around her head like a braid and stuffed it into the helmet.

"This is uncomfortable," Ezor muttered, futilely trying to make little adjustments to how the helmet sat.

"It won't be for long...I hope," the guard said. The elevator halted and the door slid open. Ezor and the guard drug the first unconscious guard to Pidge's cell, where they deposited him. Relief filled Pidge—she wouldn't have to go back into that dark hole. Then, fear gripped her.

"Shiro," she choked out. "We need to get Shiro out, too. He's in the cell below mine."

"Back into the elevator," the guard said, nudging Pidge along.

"But Shiro—"

"The other Terran," the guard said.

"We're both from Earth," Pidge said. "We need to take him with us. I can't leave him here."

"I know, but not yet," the guard said. They boarded the elevator, and the guard checked his comm device and frowned.

When the elevator started moving again, the guard said, "We need to deposit this other guard first. I checked on the other Terran—he's not in his cell. I need to find him, but if the alarm sounds for an escaped prisoner, there'll be a lockdown and a thorough search. There's no way we can escape then."

Pidge nodded, accepting those facts. She watched the remaining unconscious guard while the other two escorted their other fake prisoner to Ezor's former cell. When they returned, Pidge had already tied up the remaining guard. She asked, "Where do we take this one? To Shiro's cell?"

"No, he's not in there, but I might need this one," the guard said. He pressed a button on the elevator, and it dropped down, leaving, the cellblock levels. He looked down at his comm device and pressed some buttons. "Okay, my ship is unlocked. It's in the hanger, and I'll give you the coordinates. I want both of you to stay there. When I find the other Terran, I'll join you."

"What if we're found out before then?" Pidge asked, swallowing down bile. She couldn't go back to her cell...she couldn't stay in this place any longer and fight for the Galra's entertainment like a starved animal.

"Then we're all caught—neither of you has the flight codes," the guard said.

"You wouldn't mind handing those over, would you?" Ezor asked sweetly.

The guard snorted. "And have you leave without me? Not a chance. I think I know where they took the other Terran. They had him fight over thirty vargas ago, but they never brought him back to his cell. He was injured in his fight, but he's become valuable to them."

A shiver ran down Pidge's spine. "You have to help Shiro—he's like a brother to me," Pidge said, the words sticking in her throat. In this place, he was her only family. If she lost her dad and Shiro…

"I'll try," the guard said, his voice softening, "but I promised him I'd help you, too."

A warm, tight feeling filled Pidge's chest, and she blinked, willing herself not to cry. In a little voice, she asked, "You talked to Shiro?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, and there's a plan...sort of."

Ezor snorted, glancing between the pair. "Sure there is," Ezor said, "but as long as we're leaving this place, do what you want."

"We are, right?" Pidge asked, glancing up at the guard, whose expression was hidden behind his mask.

"Yes, we are," he said, and he sounded confident and steady. "We're all leaving as soon as I can find the other Terran."

"Where do you think they took Shiro?" Pidge asked, and her tail flicked like a worried whip. Annoyed, she grasped it in a hand to stop it from twitching.

"To the medical wing," the guard said coldly, "where they do their modifications."


End file.
